


Out of the Woods

by Anogete



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gun Violence, Road Trips, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 96,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anogete/pseuds/Anogete
Summary: The Winter Soldier doesn't know why he pulled that man from the river, but he doesn't really have time to give it much thought because he's surrounded by law enforcement and HYDRA, both of which want him dead or captured.  His best bet to escape D.C. is the woman talking on the phone at the far end of an office parking lot a few miles from the helicarrier crash sight.  Darcy Lewis did not plan on getting carjacked after a long day at her soul-crushing new job, and she definitely didn't plan on the guy doing it being this mentally unstable and hot as hell.This fic picks up where Captain America: the Winter Soldier left off and continues into the beginning of Civil War.  I wanted to explore how the Winter Soldier and Darcy would interact, explore how Bucky finds himself again after he escapes HYDRA control, and explore an alternate universe in which Darcy changes the course of events in Civil War.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, reader! At least I hope it is hello _again_. If this is the first time we've met, you should know that I'm heavy-handed with the angst and try my best to pull out the real people inside the characters we know and love. You should also know that I never post a fic until the first draft is complete. This means I'll be editing as I go and will post a chapter a day until all chapters are posted, provided nothing crazy happens in my life. If you begin this journey with me, I promise you it will have an end and the end available will be in a timely manner.
> 
> This fic is about 95,000 words and 21 chapters. A chapter a day means you're in for a three-week tale that involves Bucky and Darcy eventually falling in love. It's a slow burn, so settle in and get comfy if you're waiting for the E-rated "good stuff". That's a long way off. In the meantime, I hope you'll be satisfied with watching the Winter Soldier begin to break down and transform into Bucky with the help of a frightened, but caring Darcy Lewis. I'll be switching back and forth between their perspectives to give you a more complete picture of where these two future lovebirds are.
> 
> The fic picks up at the end of The Winter Soldier when "Bucky" pulls Steve from the river. It will carry you all the way up to the beginning of Civil War and tackle some of the events that occurred in that movie, but with some significant canon divergence since Darcy is in the mix and she will change Bucky's trajectory. There is plot, but you're not going to see a great deal of the other characters. Steve will be there in the second half of the fic. Nat and Sam have small parts at the end. Other than that, this focuses on Bucky and Darcy. It is also important to note that Bucky is not really Bucky at the beginning. He doesn't know his name and, therefore, thinks of himself as The Asset.
> 
> The lyrics quoted at the beginning of each chapter are taken from my playlist of songs that were on repeat as I wrote this fic. I'll provide a complete list later for anyone who is interested. The title of the fic was taken from Taylor Swift's song of the same name. However, I was listening to Ryan Adams' cover of it for the proper mood.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to [Bulmaveg Otaku](http://bulmavegotaku.tumblr.com/) and [chocolategate](https://chocolategate.tumblr.com/) for their excellent beta skills and for the speedy turn-around time so I could post this sooner rather than later.
> 
> Like almost every author, I love feedback. Please consider leaving a comment or sending me a message on Tumbler ([anogete](https://anogete.tumblr.com/)) or via email (anogete527@yahoo.com). I don't bite, I will respond, and I will love for you talking to me. After spending all my free time the past five weeks writing this fic, it's gratifying to hear what readers like. If you have constructive criticism or notice an error, you are welcome to send it to my email (anogete527@yahoo.com). I don't mind; I swear. This author isn't thin-skinned.
> 
> So, without further ado, I'll shut up and let you join The Asset...

 

> _“There are demons and they’ll spit you out. Better wear a mask and stay indoors in the outside world.” - Brika (Demons)_

The Asset looked down at the man on the ground, a feeling of unease settling into the back of his mind. He knew this man; this man meant something. This man was not an enemy, though The Asset been told by his superiors he was to eliminate this target. He’d not been told to deter or capture or wound. The Asset wasn’t often assigned tasks like that. He was a killer. He eliminated.

The water from the river dropped off his fingertips and settled in little round drops on the dry dirt of the ground. He could smell something burning on the other side of the water where most of the wreckage had crashed. The air stank of gasoline and acrid smoke. The man was unconscious and wounded. His face was cut and bruised; blood was seeping through the material over his stomach where The Asset had shot him.

 _Steve_ , The Asset thought. How did he know this man? Sirens were blaring in the distance and a group of men was sweeping the foliage along the riverbank where the helicarrier he’d been on had gone down. He couldn’t stay. He’d disobeyed direct orders by saving this man, and he had no desire to fight any longer. Strange thoughts were bubbling up in the back of his mind. Who was _Steve_?

After one final look at the unconscious man, The Asset turned away and followed the river downstream into thicker vegetation that would afford him some cover. He wanted to shut down his racing mind but couldn’t seem to suppress the thoughts in this quiet moment, this reprieve from the gunfire and fighting. Anxiety built up, starting in the pit of his stomach and crawling into this chest before wrapping its tendrils around his lungs. His footfalls were heavy against the ground as he faltered.

The comfortable precision of the mission had fallen away to leave him in this limbo. He thought of a train, could almost feel the vibration of its wheels careening on a rusty track as the bitter cold of winter seeped into his bones. He thought of some scrawny kid with nothing but fire in his eyes. He thought of a metal operating table holding him up as needles and scalpels floated into his hazy line of sight and descended. So much more was happening in the periphery, but it wasn’t for him to see.

Gunshots ahead flipped a switch in his brain, but instead of fear or anxiety, the sound brought about sweet relief. Gunshots were the sound of work, of a mission. He took cover against a large tree and swept his gaze over the area. The gunfire was likely two hundred yards ahead, and the vegetation provided him with ample cover. The Asset considered the source of the noise and whether the men ahead were working with the man he’d left on the ground by the water or they were against him. If they were against this man, then they were HYDRA. The Asset belonged to HYDRA. His life’s work was for HYDRA.

The sick feeling was creeping back, worming its way from his gut to constrict his heart. Who was Steve? He was on a table, nothing but blackness and a dusty window with weak light above. And then the man’s face appeared. The Asset could hear the metal buckles holding him in place as they scattered over the floor, but he couldn’t hear the man’s voice even though his lips were moving. _Steve_. The man’s name was Steve.

A bullet bit into the tree trunk just to the right of his ear, sending bark flying. The imminent danger snapped The Asset out of the past and threw him into the present. The present was easier to manage. He dropped to the ground and moved toward thicker cover as three more rounds kicked up dirt at the base of the tree. The man shooting at him was visible, but the situation was muddied. Was he HYDRA? Was he loyal to this man Steve?

The Asset shook away the question because the answer did not matter. He wasn’t going back. Either side was his enemy, whether they wanted him dead or not. A flash of searing pain ripped through his skull as he recalled being strapped into a chair while electricity pumped into his head. It had always been a means to an end, something he accepted without question because it was an order. Now he questioned why it was an order. No, he wasn’t going back. He had no choice but to disobey orders. He’d already done so by pulling the man out of the water and saving his life.

With ease, he pulled a small pistol from a holster on his right thigh and put a bullet in the shooter’s head. The Asset didn’t think twice; killing was his life, and he did nothing better than that. With the imminent threat gone, he moved away from the river, but still downstream. The further he went, the less noise he heard, the less smoke there was. Despite the thick vegetation by the river, this was a population center filled with people. Finding a way out unnoticed would be difficult.

He covered miles at a steady clip, focusing on the ache in his right arm. The man—Steve—had dislocated it during their fight and, despite it being put back into place, the muscles were tender as they healed. His side ached from a well-placed punch over his liver. These nuisance pains would be gone within an hour, but for now, they provided him with something to focus on besides his thoughts.

Sirens could be heard in the distance as he scaled a crumbling concrete retaining wall. He held onto the edge and looked across a parking lot, his face level with the cracked and faded pavement. It was half-full with cars that belonged to visitors or workers in the blocky concrete and glass building over a hundred yards away. The Asset considered where to go. He could steal a car and attempt an escape on wheels. He wasn’t familiar with the city but thought he could manage.

A woman was walking down the aisle of the parking lot toward him, but her eyes were on the sky as a black helicopter flew over. It was low, likely searching for him or other HYDRA operatives. The Asset wasn’t sure of sides any longer, and this made him very uncomfortable. The woman had long brown hair that looked glossy in the bright sunlight of late afternoon. She wore a pair of black pants and a white blouse tucked in with the top two buttons undone. Her matching jacket was over her forearm along with the strap of a large leather bag. She wasn’t a threat, but she was a problem. She’d call for help if she spotted him or saw him stealing a vehicle.

The Asset held his breath as she stepped up to a car not much more than five feet away. His eyes were level with her shoes. They were black with big silver buckles over the toes and thick heels, about two inches high. Not suitable for escape. He couldn’t remember thinking in a way other than what would hamper or help a mission. What would allow him to kill and remove himself from the scene without notice? That was all that mattered.

The Asset’s grip loosened as his vision blurred and his sight turned inward. People surrounded him, looking up on a stage in awe of a car. A woman’s hand wrapped around his left arm. When he looked down, he saw red nails gripping the brown material of his suit. Underneath was an arm, but it was not his arm. This arm was flesh and blood, fragile. It wasn’t the weapon hanging from his body now.

He caught himself before he fell. The woman only a few feet away was oblivious. She was a civilian who seemed not to care about her surroundings. She had her shoulder pressed against her ear and a phone sandwiched between the two.

“Jane. Jane. Jane, stop. I’m fine. I’m not going that way. I’m just going to deliver this shit to the Congressman’s office and go home. I started at like sixty-thirty this morning, so I’m going to pass out when I get to my bed.”

The Asset shifted his gaze from her shoes to her ass as she bent over to stow the bag and her black suit jacket in the trunk of the car. She stepped back and shut the trunk.

“Nothing happened here. No, I’m serious. I think those things went down a few miles away. These helicopters are flying crazy low, though.”

She turned around and leaned back against the trunk of the car, halfway sitting on it. The Asset looked at her face, at her full lips and blue eyes and the way she smiled when she replied to the person on the other end of the conversation

“Yeah, you know, I thought taking this job in D.C. would be safer than kicking it with you and your boy toy, but it looks like trouble follows me. Do they even know what happened?”

Holding his breath again, he waited to hear what she’d say next.

“No shit? Like, honestly, really not surprised. D.C. is corruption central, and I’ve only been here three months. With my big mouth, I might not make it another three. Can I come crawling back to you when I tell some Congressman with wandering hands that I will Taze his nutsack until it is crispy if he gets one inch closer?” The woman laughed and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right. They’d probably think it’s foreplay. Okay, Jane, I gotta go. I need to deliver this envelope and go home to my tiny apartment and pass out underneath the air conditioning unit. I don’t care if the sun is still up. It’s been a long day.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and disconnected with a sigh. Another helicopter flew over and she tracked it until it disappeared behind the building. “What a day,” she muttered, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Two men in uniforms emerged from the building, and it didn’t take his enhanced eyesight to see the guns strapped to their hips. They were either security or police, but either one was just as much trouble for him. If they were able to radio the helicopter before he killed them, then he’d be hard-pressed to escape easily in such an urban area with so many eyes and cameras.

The woman pulled a remote out of her pocket and pressed a button that caused the blue sedan she was leaning against to beep. Pushing off the trunk, she walked around to the other side of the car and pulled the driver’s side door open. The Asset ran through scenarios in his head, trying to find the best possible solution with the tools he had at his disposal—fifteen rounds in the magazine of his only gun, two knives strapped to his leg, a grenade hanging off his belt and a selection of cars which probably all had alarms that it would take him at least three seconds to disable and another ten seconds to hot-wire.

The Asset considered the woman. Could he use her? Her car was unlocked, and he was mere feet from her passenger door. The car itself offered cover from the eyes of the two men walking down the aisle of the parking lot. She was likely familiar with the layout of the city and incapable of hurting him. He pulled himself upward until he could get his feet on the pavement. Her car engine turned over just as he crawled over to wrap the fingers of his left hand around the door handle. His muscles protested, but he ignored the pain as he pulled the door open and slipped inside.

“What the…” she said, turning to look at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

The Asset crossed the gun in his right hand over his body until she could see it. “Put your hands on the wheel and drive,” he murmured.

“Who are–?”

“Drive,” he insisted, cutting off her question. He didn’t know who he was any longer.

 

* * *

 

Darcy’s hands were shaking even though she had a death grip on the steering wheel of the car. The man in her passenger seat was all in black and looked like he would kill her without a second thought if she so much as blinked at him. Slowly, she backed out of the parking spot and tried to keep her eyes on the road and not the gun he was pointing at her side. Two security guards were walking down the aisle and she considered screaming for them to help her.

The man must have followed her train of thought because he said, “If you try it, I’ll shoot you in the head.” His voice was soft, which seemed out-of-place with his look.

Swallowing the scream that was crawling up her throat, Darcy shifted her eyes from the gun to the guards, begging them to look through the windshield of the car. They were too busy watching the helicopter above to look her way. As she pulled out into traffic, she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel and said, “So, uh, where… where are we going?”

“Just drive,” he replied, pointing the gun at the floor between his feet.

Darcy’s voice was shaking when she said, “What’s…. What’s your name?”

“Drive.”

“I am,” she snapped.

“Don’t talk,” he added.

She drove past a police station and watched as the muzzle of his gun moved up to point at her again. “Drive,” he repeated.

After several minutes of navigating busy streets and congested stoplights while her mysterious passenger slouched down in the seat and tried to make himself innocuous, she managed to merge onto the beltway. If he wanted her to drive, then she’d just drive in circles and hope when she ran out of gas that he’d leave her on the side of the road.

“So, was that you? Back there? You know, all the helicopters and stuff,” Darcy asked, glancing over at the gun in his hand. It was pointed at the floor again. She really wished she’d put her purse on the center console. If she had access to her phone, then she might have been able to call for help. Then again, the guy in her car seemed pretty fucking competent. She probably wouldn’t have been able to get the jump on him.

“Don’t talk, drive.”

“Look, dude, I don’t know where you want me to take you.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to look out the back window. “Just drive.”

“We’re on the beltway. We’re gonna drive in circles unless you tell me where to go.”

Again, no response. He turned to look over his shoulder a second time. “Get off at the next exit.”

Darcy’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “What? Why? Where are we going?” She actually wanted to ask him if he was going to kill her, but she didn’t want to put murderous thoughts in his head when he looked murderous enough all on his own.

“We’re being tailed.”

“What?” she asked, flicking her gaze up to the rearview mirror before turning to look out the back window. Unknowingly, her movement turned the wheel of the car and she drifted into the lane to the right before his hand shot up and corrected the course. She heard the sounds of the metal plates shifting before she saw them. He pulled his hand away, and Darcy felt monumentally stupid. He had a metal arm—an actual working-piece-of-art metal arm connected to his body. How the hell had she missed that? Maybe it was the gun or the cold look in his eyes.

“Exit,” he barked at her. Darcy cut off the person in the far right lane as she pushed her way over so she could exit. A wave of anxiety crashed over her as she took the ramp to leave the beltway. “Please don’t kill me. Please, please, please.” Her voice was just a whisper like it was a prayer she’d just said.

“Just do what I say. Do you know where we are?”

Darcy looked around. “Yes, why? Is that good?”

“I need a secluded place.”

“What?” she said, her voice squeaky. “Please don’t kill me.”

“I won't,” he snapped as Darcy turned right to avoid stopping at the streetlight. “You're safe from me.”

“Why do you need a secluded place?” she asked, looking in the rear view again. There was a large, black SUV two cars behind her. Were they really being tailed?

When he didn’t answer, she pressed the gas down and sped up to get through the next light. The black SUV was forced to stop and wait for it to turn green again. “Good,” he told her. “Now find a secluded place.”

“Dude,” Darcy said after a nervous laugh, “we’re in the middle of D.C. There are no secluded places.” She heard the screech of tires as another black SUV pulled in behind them when she went through an intersection. “Oh my god,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the wheel. “Who _are_ you?”

“Think fast,” he told her before bringing the gun up until the muzzle was just a few scant inches from her side.

“Okay, okay,” she said in a shaky voice. “Secluded. No people. Okay. Umm, okay.” There was a construction site for a new building not far away. It had a high chain-link fence and banners hanging up on the fence to hide the equipment from prying eyes. “Okay,” she said again, “it’s almost seven o’clock so they’re probably done for the day.”

“What?” her abductor said, turning to look out the back window again.

“Construction site,” she replied, pushing the gas pedal down. “I don’t know how we’re going to get through the gate, though. It’s probably locked.”

“Drive through,” he replied. “Faster.”

Darcy laughed, but it was high-pitched and nervous. “This is a company car. I’ll get fired if I scratch it up.”

“And you’ll die if you don’t,” he replied, moving the gun a little closer.

“Okay, okay. Fuck,” Darcy muttered. Her mouth was dry and her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. She turned left and cut off a car that had the right of way. The SUV following them couldn’t turn fast enough and got stuck as a stream of cars continued through the intersection.

“Good,” the man said again.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she made a sharp turn, the tires of the sensible company car squealing on the pavement. The entrance to the construction zone was just ahead. “Promise me I’m not going to die,” Darcy said.

He was silent for a long moment before he said, “I promise.”

“Those guys behind us aren’t good guys, are they?” Darcy asked, glancing over at him. The wet hair hanging in his face prevented her from seeing his eyes.

“There are no good guys,” the man replied, his voice flat and brooking no argument.

“I mean, they aren’t police. They aren’t here to save me.”

“No, they’re here to take me,” he said.

“Oh, god…” Darcy muttered, adjusting her grip on the wheel. A fraction of a second later, a black SUV jumped out of a side street and clipped the back bumper of her car. She screamed and punched the gas. The gate for the construction yard offered almost no resistance. As soon as her front bumper hit it, the links holding the fence closed broke and fell away. She slammed on the brakes right before ramming the sedan into a backhoe parked in front of the skeleton of a building.

The black SUV pulled in behind her as Darcy reached for the door handle. “Stay,” the man told her as he opened his door and pushed himself out of the car. She had no intention of obeying until the frighteningly loud crack of a gun sounded and the back window of her car shattered.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Darcy muttered as she hunkered down in her seat, trying to get her head as close to the floor as possible. There were more gunshots and some shouting. She could hear the tires of more vehicles arrive, but couldn’t determine how many. A body hit the passenger side of the car hard enough that one of the windows cracked. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter, but it was close to it.

She screamed when someone pulled her door open. It was an unfamiliar man with a black gun in his hand and a wild look in his eyes. She immediately knew he was _not_ looking to save her. “No,” she screamed, twisting in her seat and kicking at the man. Her heel connected with his thigh right before he grabbed her ankle and pulled. She held on tight to the steering wheel, but he had leverage and was stronger. “No,” she said again, trying to make contact with her other foot. She kicked out and hit nothing because he was gone. Darcy looked up to see the man with the metal arm standing in the doorway. His face was impassive, but his eyes looked terrified. Her would-be-attacker was lying on the ground with his neck sliced open.

Her abductor turned away and lifted his left arm to deflect a bullet. The metal plates of the arm made an eerie sound as they shifted with each movement. She watched through the open door as he bent down and picked up the dying man’s gun. With a strange kind of grace, he lifted the gun to aim it as he turned around. It popped three times, and Darcy was sure her hearing would never recover.

The silence after the shots made her feel like she was in a vacuum and unable to hear the sound the man's boots made on the dusty ground as he pivoted and threw a knife at someone. She didn't see the blade hit its mark from where she was halfway in the car, nor did she hear the grunt of the man whose chest it was buried in. Darcy did see the carnage and the bodies when she slipped out of the car and crawled around to the front. A bullet ricocheted off her abductor’s metal arm and lodged itself in the fender of the car, not far from her head.

Darcy pushed herself to a crouched position with a hand on the hood and surveyed her options for escape. There were bodies all around her abductor, but there were also still several men in black tactical gear using three SUVs as cover. She decided to make a run for it before things went even further south. Just as Darcy hunched over and took a couple loping steps to the side where the path was clear, a man with an assault rifle stepped in front of her. She screamed and held her hands up in surrender, but the man brought the barrel of the gun up to point it at her chest. He was only a few yards away, and she had a terrible feeling he wasn't the kind of guy who missed.

“Please,” she managed to say to him before a strong arm wrapped around her midsection. The next thing Darcy knew, she was pulled back into a hard body and spun around until the gunman was at her back. The movement and the gunshot seemed to happen at the same time. She heard a grunt and the strange sound of the plates in her abductor’s arms shifting. The pop from a second gun was still loud in her ear, but that was probably because the man holding her had been the one to pull the trigger.

He pushed her to the ground and said, “Stay down. Use the car as cover.”

She watched his black boots disappear as she crawled back to the front of the car and huddled next to the hood. The muted shouts and pops of gunfire were all she could hear. Darcy frantically looked left to right, waiting on a man with a gun to round the corner and press the muzzle to her temple.

What was probably only a minute passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Her abductor walked around the car to stand in front of her. His face was devoid of emotion, but his eyes looked like those of a wild animal who was trapped and hurt. She closed her eyes and waited for him to bring that assault rifle he'd lifted off one of the other men to bear on her.

“Get up.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. For the first time, Darcy saw the darker fabric on his vest over the right shoulder. “Oh my God,” she whispered, “you were shot.” Her voice sounded so overwhelming in her mind when his was so muted from the noise of the firefight. It was like having cotton stuffed in her ears and she could hear the ragged sounds of her own breath over everything else.

“Get up. We need to leave.”

“Take my car. The keys are in the ignition.” Darcy crawled away from the front bumper. The dry dust of the construction yard covered her palms and was all over her black pants.

He reached down with the metal hand and grabbed her arm, tearing a gasp from her at his strength as he easily pulled her to her feet. “They’ll be back. You stay, you die.” His voice sounded less muted now as her ears began to recover from the gunshots.

As soon as she was stable on her feet, he released her. “What do you care?” Darcy asked.

He looked at her with those wide, wild eyes and his mouth set in a flat line like he was perpetually grimacing. She watched in confusion as his lips parted and his gaze turned inward like he wasn’t really seeing her at all. He stumbled back a step, and Darcy reached out to steady him, so sure he was going to fall. Before she could touch his flesh arm, he turned away and ran a hand roughly through his hair.

She watched him walk over to the trunk of her car and rip it open with the metal arm. He retrieved her purse and strode over to one of the black SUVs. “Get in,” he said, voice gruff.

Darcy looked around her, considering options. She could run, but she wasn’t very fast and knew he’d be able to find her in the contained yard, even if she could temporarily find a hiding spot. Plus, he had a gun and, as evidenced by the bodies lying in the dirt between the vehicles, he wasn’t shy about using it. He was just as dangerous as he looked.

She slipped into the driver’s seat of the SUV furthest from the fight. It still had all its windows and seemed to have escaped unscathed. The man with the metal arm was in the passenger seat beside her, securing a pistol and extra magazines he’s pulled off one of the dead men in the holster and straps of his pants. She eyed his hands as he worked efficiently and quickly. “Drive,” he told Darcy, not even bothering to look up.

“Where?”

He shifted in the seat and grunted, his metal hand reaching up to press against the wet spot on the leather vest.

“Fuck, I forgot. You’re shot.”

“Drive,” he repeated.

Darcy put the car into gear. “Where?” she asked, her voice bordering on hysterical. “Look, you need a hospital.”

“No,” he snapped.

“You saved me,” she said, backing the massive SUV around until she could turn the wheel and pull out into traffic. There were police sirens in the distance, but they would be there in seconds.

She turned right at the first light and then left, trying to worm her way away from the sight of the shootout and the dead bodies. Darcy’s hands were shaking, but her mind felt surprisingly calm as she navigated the city streets and got back on the beltway. The silence in the car was only broken by the hum of the engine and the air conditioner blowing cool air on her flushed face. And the whir of his left arm when he moved it to put pressure on his shoulder wound.

“You need a doctor,” she said.

“No doctor.”

She looked over to see dark red blood smeared on the silver fingers of his left hand. “Oh my god, this is insane. You were shot.”

“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Drive. Please. They'll kill us both if they find us.”

“I am driving,” Darcy replied, her voice sounded like she was nearing a nervous breakdown. “I am, I am.”

The next time she dared a glance in his direction, his eyes were closed and his head was tilted back to rest on the seat. He was very obviously in pain, and she could see the blood from his wound smeared down the leather vest. His breathing was erratic, but not consistently so. One moment he would be breathing deeply and slowly, the next moment his breaths were shallow and ragged. She wondered at her anxiety that he would die. If he died, then she’d be free. She could pull over and call the police and go back to her boring little life. Why did things like this happen to her? Why was she worried about him? Because he’d saved her life after abducting her? Obviously, her bar was set pretty low.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Drive,” he replied without opening his eyes.

“I am, asshole.”

That got him to open his eyes and level his dispassionate gaze on her before closing them again.

Darcy exited the beltway and merged onto ninety-five north. She drove for another twenty minutes in silence, thinking of questions to ask but pressing her lips together before she could voice them. It wasn’t until she exited the interstate that she realized she’d been on autopilot to her apartment in the suburbs of DC.

She glanced over at the man in the passenger seat when she felt the weight of his gaze on her. He looked tired and worried, but when he registered that she was watching him he pulled inward and his eyes lost the expressiveness that she’d seen a moment before.

“I don’t know where you want me to take you, but you can’t bleed out in this car,” Darcy said. “There’s a hospital–”

“No,” he said, interrupting her. “No hospitals.”

“Who is after you? Who _are_ you?”

He shook his head but didn’t offer an explanation.

“Okay, so… My place is a few blocks away. I have first aid stuff, but… uh, you were shot so…. I don’t know if rubbing alcohol and some gauze is going to help you.”

He didn’t respond, so she took the silence as agreement or at least acquiescence. He wasn’t holding a gun to her anymore. He also didn’t seem like he was going to pull a gun out and shoot her in the head. Darcy was more fearful that those men in the SUVs would show up and try to kill her again. They didn’t seem nearly as agreeable as the man next to her, which was pretty shocking since the man next to her looked like the most dangerous person she’d ever met.

“You can’t park this at your home. It could have tracking on it,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

“Don’t you think they would have found us already?”

“Resources are spread thin. They’ll need time to assemble a team to come get me.”

Darcy passed her apartment and kept driving. “Are you gonna tell me who you are?”

“Park at least a mile away,” he said instead of answering her question.

“Dude, you cannot walk a mile. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“A mile,” he repeated.

Darcy exhaled a breath of air and said, “Fine, but I’m not carrying your ass if you pass out.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

> _“Are my thoughts of a man who can call himself sane? Do I blame all my pain on the wickedness I have arranged? If I do, bring it down.” - The Afghan Whigs (Night By Candlelight)_

His shoulder throbbed in pain because the bullet was still embedded in his flesh while his body was trying to heal around it with little luck. It would eventually be successful, but The Asset knew the best thing would be to remove the foreign object to optimize his body’s healing capabilities.

It was surprising to him that the woman had not objected or tried to escape when he’d made her drive to a shopping center so he could break into and hot-wire a car at the far end of the parking lot. She’d slipped into the driver’s seat at his order and driven two miles away where she’d parked the car on a side street and directed him to follow her through a narrow alley bordered by dilapidated garages with rusty doors. Four blocks down the deserted alley, she’d stopped at a white gate and flipped the latch up. After navigating a small courtyard, she unlocked a white door and stepped into the small apartment. He’d expected her to shut the door on him or to lunge for a phone. He’d expected to need to stop her, but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she held the door open for him and waited.

The Asset stepped inside the cool, dark apartment and shut the door behind himself. Her right hand had such a tight grip on the strap of her brown bag that her knuckles were white. He’d not wanted to involve her, but that was unavoidable now. Besides, she was proving herself to be useful even if he’d injured himself in an ill-advised attempt to save her life. The Asset did not know why he’d done that. Saving her was not his mission.

“I don’t have a mission,” he murmured, staring at the blank wall in front of him.

“What?” she asked, her voice strung tight and nervous.

He shook his head and moved further into her apartment. Flashes of a past he didn’t remember had filled the car ride to her home, but none of it made sense. It was a jigsaw puzzle, and he couldn’t seem to fit any of the pieces together, couldn’t even find the edges to get his bearings.

Blood dripped from his hand and splattered on the white tile of her foyer.

“How are you still standing?” she asked, moving further into the apartment. He followed her, wondering if this would be the moment she reached for a phone or a knife or a gun and betrayed him.

“I’m not human anymore,” The Asset muttered, the words falling from his lips with little thought. Anymore? Was he ever? Was he now? “I don’t know who I am,” he said to himself. “Who… I’m so sorry. I… I’m sorry. ”

She went through a doorway and flipped on a light. The bathroom was small and cramped with a pedestal sink and a squat rack of junk next to it. “Do you have amnesia?” she asked, bending over to search for something on the bottom shelf of the wire rack. He wondered if she was searching for a gun to shoot him in the head. Maybe she would succeed. Maybe this could end right then.

“Amnesia?” he asked.

“You lost your memory.” The back of the woman’s black pants was still smudged with dirt from the construction yard. He shifted his gaze away when she lifted herself up and turned around to pull at the mirror over the sink. It revealed shelves of ointments and bottles with medication.

“I don’t have a memory.” It was a lie, but he did not lie. Orders required honesty and discipline. Who was he? The Asset grabbed the wall to steady himself as he saw a pale, skinny hand wrapped in white cloth bandages, blood seeping through at the knuckles. The hand belonged to Steve, but not the Steve on the bridge. Not the Steve on the helicarrier. Not the man he’d pulled from the river.

“Whoa,” the woman said, reaching out a hand to steady him. He pulled away just before her fingertips reached his shoulder. “You almost passed out.”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, stepping out of the bathroom.

She sat the box of bandages, the bottle of rubbing alcohol, a roll of white tape, and some ointment in a tube on the tank of her toilet. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to… offend. I just… I don’t think I can lift you up if you go down. I’d have to call an ambulance, and you said you didn’t want that.”

The Asset winced as he pulled a knife from a loop on his belt.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, holding up her hands in surrender. “Please, dude. I won’t touch you.”

He furrowed his brows as he watched her plead with him. It took him more than a moment to realize she thought he intended her harm. “No. Not… I’m not… Move,” he said. “I need to get the bullet out.”

The fear drained from her face. “Oh. _Oh_. Okay. Umm….” She slipped out the door so he could sit down on the toilet.

The Asset felt weary, but not just from the physical exertion. The fight with the man with the shield had been brutal. The subsequent fall into the river and his escape from the scene didn’t help matters, but he was built for this. He trained for these situations. Didn’t he? “Who am I?” he asked himself.

“Umm, do you remember your first name?”

Looking up, he found her still in the doorway, watching him with wide eyes. “If you call for help, I’ll kill you.” He said the words, but the threat sounded hollow. Why? What was the mission? What was his goal?

“I gotcha,” she said quickly. “My… my name is Darcy.”

“I don’t care,” The Asset muttered, twisting to unbuckle the shoulder harness. He undid the fastener under both arms and struggled to pull it over his head. Finally, he clenched his teeth and lifted his injured arm to pull it away from his body.

“Were you on one of the helicarriers that crashed? Did you hit your head?” She was still in the doorway and wringing her hands.

“No. Yes.” He shifted on the toilet seat and leaned to the left as he tried to use that arm to unbuckle his tactical vest. It wasn’t easy with one hand. He grunted as he twisted his injured right arm and tried to fumble the tie loose.

The woman cleared her throat. “Do you, uh, want help?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay.” She sighed and leaned her shoulder against the door. “Why did you save me?”

“Stop asking questions,” he snapped, teeth clenched to keep from groaning in pain again. The Asset exhaled sharply as he managed to get one strap free to access the zipper underneath. There were three more before he could even attempt to pull the material off his body. The wound throbbed in pain.

Pushing his hair back from his face, The Asset closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. The clock was ticking. He needed the bullet out so he could heal. They couldn’t stay at her apartment for much longer, either. At best, the police would track her down when they found her car in the construction yard. At worst, HYDRA would intercept the information and be there before the police even arrived.

When he opened his eyes, she was kneeling in front of him but not touching him. “Don’t be stubborn. I can unbuckle it without touching you.” Her eyes were clear and whatever fear had been there was gone. The Asset swept his gaze over her face, taking in the blue eyes and full lips, the graceful slope of her nose.

Without a word, he lifted his metal arm and offered his side to her so she could unbuckle the one-armed leather jacket. He didn’t miss the slight tremble when she reached forward to make quick work of the three other ties. “There’s a zipper,” he murmured under his breath.

She shifted and leaned closer. “Got it,” she whispered, dragging the zipper down until the white, cotton shirt underneath was visible. “Do you want my help pulling it off?”

The Asset swallowed before he said, “Yes.” He only agreed because their time was limited. Their time? Was he taking her with him when he left this place? Where were they going? She was a liability; he had a bullet in his shoulder because of her.

Looking up at her as she stood between his spread knees, he wondered why she was even offering help. She didn’t know him. _He_ didn’t even know himself. His body flushed with a cold sweat as he felt her hands tugging at the leather. His mind flashed back to a warm breath on his neck and feminine laughter. He could almost feel his hands on her waist. Not _her_ waist, though. Some other woman from long ago. Why were these things in his head? He was built for missions, assassinations, war. Who the hell was _Steve_?

“Bucky,” he mumbled as she pulled the jacket over his head and peeled it down his injured right arm.

“What?” the woman asked. “Who is Bucky? Is that your name?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No.”

“Dude, your shoulder looks…”

The Asset glanced down and saw the dried blood around the wound. It had soaked into the white shirt from his shoulder to the collar around his neck and down to where it disappeared into the waistband of his pants. He pulled at the cotton material until it was untucked and closed his eyes as she wordlessly helped him pull it over his head. He wanted to thank her, but he didn’t know the words. They felt thick and awkward in his mouth.

“I think you need a doctor,” she whispered before glancing away from the bullet wound.

Picking the knife up off the floor, he clenched his teeth together and slipped it into the hole just above his armpit.

“Jesus christ,” she muttered, turning away and putting her hand over her mouth. “What the fuck, dude?”

“The bullet needs to come out so I can heal.”

“Uh, you need a surgeon for that.”

The pain in his shoulder felt like fire, but it allowed him to focus on something other than these images that kept running through his mind, these misplaced memories of someone other than him. As he slipped the knife into the muscle of his shoulder, he couldn’t stop the groan. Just a little deeper and he’d have it. She’d turned around to watch with horrified eyes like she was watching a monster. Good. He was nothing if not a monster. How many people had he killed? Two hundred twenty-seven. No. Two hundred thirty-six. The gunman by the river and eight HYDRA operatives. He’d killed his own team. Were they his team? Was he the mission now?

Two hundred thirty-six. “Oh god,” he muttered, leaning back against the toilet tank and letting his left hand with the knife hang limply at his side.

“Hey,” she whispered, squatting in front of him, still careful not to touch him. “Can I help?”

“Why?”

“What? Why, what?

“Why help? I took you.”

She frowned before exhaling a laugh that was more bitter than amused. “Honestly, I don’t know. I mean… You’re not so scary when you don’t have a gun pointed at me. And… you saved me back there. You could have let that guy shoot me. Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

She shifted her weight and almost grabbed onto his knee to keep her balance, but stopped herself at the last moment, choosing to press her fingertips to the floor instead. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go to a doctor? I’ll lie. I’ll tell them it was a hunting accident or something.”

He steeled himself and brought the knife up again, shoving it deep enough that he nicked the embedded bullet with the tip. The Asset groaned in pain as he twisted the blade and dislodged the bullet. “Grab it,” he said through clenched teeth.

“What?” the woman asked him, wide blue eyes looking up at him like he’d lost his mind. He had lost it. He was sitting in a stranger’s bathroom digging a bullet out of his shoulder because his mission had failed and he’d done nothing to correct it. Instead, he’d run.

“The bullet. Pull it out.”

“With my fingers?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“I… I don’t know.”

He twisted the knife again and edged the metal object closer to the surface.

She put a hand on his knee as she said, “Okay, okay, okay,” in a shaking voice. “Oh, god,” she muttered as her index finger touched the jagged wound around where the bullet had entered.

“Do it,” he growled.

“Okay. Fuck, okay,” she replied, pressing deeper along the edge of the knife until she hit the bullet. She nudged the piece of lead until she could pinch it with her index finger and thumb. He felt the moment it was gone. The pain was still there, but the relief made it manageable.

As he twisted to grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol, she dropped the bullet on the bathroom floor and fell back on her ass. The warmth of her hand on his knee disappeared, and The Asset wasn’t sure whether that was also a relief or if it was a loss.

He unscrewed the cap with his teeth and spit it out on the floor. “Pack a bag. If you stay here, they’ll find you.”

“What?” she asked, looking up at him as he grimaced in pain over the alcohol burning the open wound.

“HYDRA. They’ll find you. Whether the police get here first or them, it don’t matter.”

“Am I a hostage now?”

The Asset bent over and rested his forearms on his knees. “No. Your choice--them or me.”

“Are you _helping_ me?” She sounded as if the thought was ridiculous.

“I’m not looking for two hundred thirty-seven.”

“Two hundred thirty-seven, what?”

“Kills.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Fuck, dude. Who _are_ you?”

He reached behind him and grabbed the tape and the gauze. “Pack a bag,” he said. “Fast. Only a matter of time.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy’s hands were shaking as she tossed random pieces of clothing in a black duffle bag. Her purse was on the bed next to it. Her phone was in there. She could call 911. She could call the police and whisper that she needed help. He was in the bathroom patching himself up and wouldn’t notice. Would he? She didn’t even know his name. He’d abducted her at gunpoint and nearly gotten her killed. He looked like he might be insane or deadly or both most of the time. She should have been running out of her apartment screaming for someone to help her. Instead, she was packing an overnight bag to go who-knew-where to do who-knew-what with who-knew-who. It sounded like he didn’t even know who or what he was.

She nearly screamed when she heard someone knocking at her front door. Holding a hand over her pounding heart, she stepped into the hallway to find that the man with the metal arm was in the door of the bathroom. He looked like a wild animal that had been cornered. “Who is it?” she whispered.

He shook his head but didn’t block her path. The sense of trust between them was unexpected and strange, but very clearly there and not something she was imagining. What if the police were knocking on her door because they’d found her car at the scene of a slaughter? Would she clue them into the fact that the killer was in her bathroom?

Darcy turned away from the man and walked down the short hallway to the front door. It wasn’t until she put her hand on the doorknob that she thought the visitor might be someone who was just as dangerous as the man in her apartment. There was only one man standing on her welcome mat, and he was in a charcoal suit with a red tie. He smiled widely when she opened the door.

“Hello, I seem to have lost my dog. Have you seen him?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does he look like?”

“Oh, medium-build with brown fur. He’s not very friendly, I’m afraid. Tends to bite.”

Darcy could feel the dread in the pit of her stomach. Why was she in this ridiculous situation that involved assassins and guns and deception? She’d thought taking the job in D.C. and selling her soul to a lobbying firm would have prevented the life-or-death days. “No, I haven’t seen him,” she said, licking her dry lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, but his smile never reached his eyes. “I have a tracker on his collar and it looked like he was sniffing around here.”

“Yep, I’m sure,” she replied, swinging the door shut. His hand caught it before she could turn the lock and pushed it open, throwing Darcy back a step. Before she could regain her balance, he had a gun pointed at her forehead. The barrel was long, and she thought that was probably because a silencer was screwed onto the end. Before she could open her mouth to scream, the crack of a gunshot nearly deafened her. She stood motionless for a moment as she waited for the pain, but none came. Instead, the man standing before her crumpled to the ground. The hole in his head looked unreal until blood started flowing from it. “Oh my g–”

Metal fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her away from the door. “Let’s go,” he said, pointing the gun in his other hand against the ground. He’d somehow managed to get his one-armed tactical jacket back on, but it was only zipped, not buckled.

“But, what–?”

“Don’t talk. Move.” His eyes were cold and his movements were a strange combination of stiff and fluid. He seemed competent, which was comforting at that moment. A stranger had just attempted to murder her, but the more dangerous man seemed to be on her side.

Darcy hurried into the bedroom and grabbed her purse and duffle just before she heard the explosion at her door. Her man with the metal arm used that arm to bust out her bedroom window. She shifted her gaze from the bedroom door to the window and watched him climb through and land in the bushes outside. He fired off a few shots before extending his left arm to her. Cloying smoke that burned her nostrils and her eyes wafted through the door followed by another crash in her living room.

“Move!” her abductor—or maybe he was her savior now—said. She stepped over to the window and grabbed his outstretched hand. He pulled her outside without much effort at all. A jagged piece of glass still stuck to the window frame nicked her forearm, but with his help, she managed to escaped the apartment otherwise unscathed.

“What’s happening?” she asked, stumbling away from him and onto the gravel path between the low wooden fence and her building.

Instead of answering her question, he vaulted over the fence and reached down to pull her up. As soon as she was hanging from his metal arm, a bullet hit the wooden fence next to her leg. Before she could scream or process her imminent death, he’d pulled her into his arms and rolled to the ground, pressing her into the concrete sidewalk while someone who had come through her apartment window sprayed bullets over the fence.

Her hearing was muted again, muffled from the loud crack of gunfire and explosions. She could hear a ringing, but not much else. All she knew was that the man with the arm had her bags in his right hand and was pulling her up with his left. She went along, stumbling to her feet and crashing into his body, which was strung tight. He pulled her after him, ducking into an alley and then over a fence into a neighbor’s yard. She scraped her arm as he pulled her up another fence and across a second yard. Darcy had no time to think, she was just trusting that this man knew what he was doing and would keep her away from the crazies with the guns who wanted to kill her. Why were they trying to kill her? Who the hell _was_ he that knowing him meant she was marked for death?

After what felt like miles, but was likely only a few blocks that involved backyards of strangers and alleys, he stopped at an old black Jeep. She watched as he tried the door and was surprised that it opened without him having to bust the window out to gain entrance. A siren was wailing only a few blocks away.

“You drive,” he said, touching wires together to start the vehicle.

“I have no experience with car chases, dude.”

“No chase,” he said, exiting the vehicle. “Drive normally and do not be suspicious.”

Darcy watched him crawl onto the floor of the back seat with her bags. “What the fuck, dude?”

“Now,” he demanded. “Get in and drive.”

The sirens were closer now. She jumped into the driver’s seat and put the Jeep into drive. “Act normal,” he said.

“That’s pretty fuckin’ easy for you to say. This is the first time I’ve had like three very near-death experiences in one day. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been shot at, and I’ve been in some pretty crazy situations lately.”

When he didn’t respond, she pulled onto the street and tried to will her heartbeat to slow down. Her hair was a disaster and the cold sweat on the back of her neck made her feel clammy. “Okay, okay, okay,” she whispered under her breath. “Be normal. Just a normal day driving a Jeep that was stolen and does not belong to me. Oh, just a normal day evading the police and getting shot at by the mafia or the government or whoever.” She glanced over her shoulder and down into the floor where he was lying. “Do you even know who is shooting at us?”

“HYDRA,” he replied.

“I don’t know what that is. Is that a military organization or something?”

“No.” He didn’t offer any further explanation, and she didn’t know what else to say because she was feeling nauseous as she remembered the man at her doorstep bleeding from the hole in his head.

“Oh, god,” she muttered. “That guy… that guy said you had a tracker on your collar. What if they’re tracking you right now?”

She could hear him shift on the floor. Darcy glanced back to see him lift his hips up and pull his black belt from the loops on his pants. “What the fuck, dude? You can’t strip back there.”

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, the squeal of tires from a vehicle pulling in behind them made Darcy scream.

“Don’t panic,” he said from the floor. “Don’t speed up.”

“But they’re behind us.”

Darcy glanced back at him when she heard a growl of frustration. He had a small circular device pinched between the thumb and forefinger of his metal hand. It snapped and broke into pieces when he squeezed it. “Tracker,” he said.

“That doesn’t fix the car behind us.”

“Turn and see if they follow.”

She made a right and watched the rearview mirror for them. Sure enough, there was the hood of the black sedan as it turned the corner. “They followed,” she muttered.

“Don’t panic,” he said, shifting around to secure his belt again.

“How in the hell can you be so calm?” she asked, moving her gaze from the road in front of her to the rearview mirror. “If this is your life, then you are insane. How can you live like this?”

He didn’t respond. Darcy made a left-hand turn and held her breath. They followed.

“Bad news,” she told him.

“Pull over and park.”

“No! My hearing is just now coming back. I don’t want to get shot at again.”

“Pull over.”

“Dude, shut up. I’m _not_ pulling over so we can die.”

“Pull over. They won’t expect you to if I’m in the car.”

Darcy considered his idea. “So, like, reverse psychology, huh?”

No response. Whatever. He hadn’t steered her wrong so far. Well, he had abducted her at gunpoint, but he’d saved her ass multiple times since then. “Oh, god,” she muttered under her breath. “This is how Stockholm syndrome starts.” She held her breath as she slowed to a crawl and pulled up next to the curb. As the car behind them came closer, she turned her head and grabbed her purse from the back floor next to his head. He locked gazes with her and he seemed cool and collected, almost detached. It was a sharp contrast to the man she’d first met.

Darcy rummaged around in her purse and pulled a tube of lipstick out, applying it in the visor mirror while the car rolled by slowly. She could feel eyes upon her, assessing the situation. They could pull a gun out and shoot her in the head and she could do nothing to defend herself. The man who’d saved her ass over the past hour or so wouldn’t be able to do anything either.

As the car accelerated and turned at the stop sign on the corner, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You got lucky,” she told the man in the back. “I think I’m really going to regret this, but where to now? Are you sure we can’t just go to the cops?”

“What makes you think they don’t have people on the force, too?” he asked her.

Darcy pulled in a shaky breath before blowing it out her nose. “Okay. Alright. Where to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you wonderful, kind souls who have commented and left kudos to let me know you're reading. I hope you enjoy this fic as I post more chapters. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

 

> _“Just wanna tell you that I see you. Baby, do you see me? ‘Cause this is special, baby. Fuck ‘em, only we know.” - Banks (Fuck ‘Em Only We Know)_

The man with the metal arm hadn't given her instructions or orders, but she figured that getting the hell out of D. C. would be a start. She got back onto ninety-five and headed south this time. When she stopped for gas, she returned from the convenience store to find him sitting in the passenger seat instead of lying on the floorboards in the back.

“You know,” Darcy told him as she slipped into the driver's seat, “it never even occurred to me to call for help in there. I was just worried about getting in and out without anyone realizing I’m on the run from crazy men that want to kill us. That's really messed up.”

He didn't reply, so she just shrugged and turned the engine over. The sun had set a couple hours ago and the air was cooling down. It felt good against her face with the window partially down. After five minutes on the interstate, the fresh air was more of a nuisance, and she switched over to the air conditioner.

“Are you gonna talk or what?” she asked, glancing over at her passenger.

“What is your question?” he asked.

Darcy shook her head. “Well, I've got like twenty and that's just off the top of my head.”

“Ask.”

“Uh, you have a metal arm.” When he didn’t reply, she glanced over and raised her brows. “What’s up with that?”

“I don’t understand the question,” he replied, face impassive and unconcerned.

“Where’d you get it?”

Darcy glanced over again and saw that his brows were furrowed like he was trying to find the answer. “It’s useful,” he said.

She nodded. “Yeah, obviously better than no arm, but… that wasn’t really an answer. Let’s just… Okay, let’s try another question. Why did you abduct me?”

He was staring straight ahead through the windshield, his face devoid of expression again. “I needed transportation.”

“Why _me_?” she asked.

He looked over at her, but she still didn't see any emotion. “You were there and had a vehicle. You posed no threat.”

Darcy widened her eyes and shook her head. “Ooookay. Why did you keep me around after the shit went down at the construction yard?”

“You requested I keep you safe. I was following… orders.” It was as if he realized how strange his answer was right before he managed to get the last word out. She looked over to find the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.

“Like, I appreciate the hand, but I'm not your commanding officer or whatever you guys call it.” She turned her eyes back to the road which was illuminated by the headlights of the vehicle.

He didn't reply. When she looked over at him again, he seemed lost in his own head.

“Hey, did you ever figure out your name?”

“No,” he said softly.

Darcy sighed. “If we're gonna go on the run together, then I need to know what to call you other than dude.”

“That's not important.”

“Yeah, but still… What about Steve? I've heard you say that name a couple times.”

He turned his head to look at her with wild eyes. “No. No, I'm not Steve.”

“Okay. Frank? Bill? John? Jim?”

“Jim?” he asked.

“James?” she replied, but it was more a question.

He turned his gaze back out the windshield. “Soldier,” he finally replied.

Darcy glanced away from the road. “Uh, what? You want me to call you Soldier?”

“Yes.”

“Dude, this is so weird.” She shook her head and said, “Okay. Fine. Soldier. Whatever floats your boat. Let me know if you figure out your name and want to switch.” When he didn't respond, she added, “My name is Darcy. But… I guess you can call me whatever if we're not doing names.”

Silence. He continued to stare out the window, his eyes unseeing and blank. Darcy shifted in her seat and swallowed the rest of her questions. He didn't seem capable of answering them, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to hear the answers even if he had them.

It took another hour to skirt Richmond and continue south. He was a hulking mass of silence and muscle and danger sitting in the passenger seat. Sometimes she thought he might be a time bomb about to blow and other times she was relieved that if she had to be on the run from maniacs with guns that she had the baddest guy on her side.

 _Was_ he on her side, though? He'd saved her. She'd passed up multiple opportunities to escape or call for help. She was an _accomplice_ now. Fucking Stockholm Syndrome. Darcy shook her head at the thought. This case was different; these were extenuating circumstances. The only person who hadn't tried to kill her in the past few hours was the leather-clad badass sitting next to her. That had to count for something.

By the time Richmond was two hours behind them and they were in the middle of rural North Carolina, Darcy was flagging. She could feel the exhaustion pulling her attention away from the road and dragging her down into the seat of the vehicle. Her passenger hadn’t spoken for hours and all she heard was the muted rumble of the road disappearing beneath the tires.

“Hey, _Soldier_ ,” she said, “you either have to talk to me and keep me awake or we gotta stop.”

“What?” he asked, his voice cold.

“I’ve been up since five. It’s after midnight, and I’ve had a really fucking rough day. I mean, maybe you get shot at all the time, but I don’t.”

“Pull over,” he demanded.

“What?”

“Pull over.”

Darcy felt her gut twist as she wondered if he was going to leave her on the side of the interstate or if he’d just shoot her in the head and dump her in a ditch. “Why?”

“I’ll drive. We can’t stop.”

“We’re hours away from D.C. in the middle of North Carolina. I don’t think–”

“Pull over,” he repeated.

She muttered, “Fuck,” under her breath and flipped on the hazard lights as she slowed and directed the car to the shoulder of the road. She didn’t get out until he had already done so. He actually made it to her door and opened it before she’d mustered up the courage to move. He watched her with careful, assessing eyes as she slipped out of the seat and hurried around the front of the car. The man didn’t even put his hands on the wheel until she’d gotten in. “Thanks,” she muttered as she fastened her belt.

“You’re nervous.”

Laughing, Darcy said, “Ya don’t say.”

“Why? We’re in no immediate danger.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A guy with a metal arm and a bad attitude just put me through a whirlwind of an evening that involved way too many guns and the destruction of my apartment. You’ve also threatened me with a gun and considering the dudes that are after us, that’s the least of my worries. I didn’t want you to leave me on the side of the road so the mystery squad can come shoot me in the head.”

He looked over at her, but she could barely make out his expression in the light coming from the dashboard. “I promised you I wouldn’t let you die.”

Darcy furrowed her brows. “Wait. Do you actually think I’m one of your missions? Like, you think keeping me alive is the goal?”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Yes, yes, keeping me alive is the goal.” She swallowed the anxiety building up in her throat. “Beefcake soldier, please keep me alive. Better yet, keep me unharmed.”

“Beefcake…”

She waved away his question. “That doesn’t matter. Who _are_ you?”

“A soldier,” he replied, pulling onto the almost-deserted highway.

“Established, dude. Where did you come from?”

She saw the way he frowned as they passed under one of the light poles along the side of the road. “I… I don’t know.”

“Amnesia. I knew it. You must know something crazy or you’ve done something crazy for those guys to come after you. Do you know who they are? What’d you say, HYDRA?”

“HYDRA, yes. I support the cause of…” The man trailed off.

“The cause of what?”

“I… I am HYDRA. Was. Am. Was.” He sounded like a record that was skipping.

“Okay, I’m going to go out on a limb and say the correct word in that sentence is probably was. Obviously, your ass has defected.”

“Yes. Steve.”

Darcy was starting to get a bit worried that the amnesiac with the gun and the mechanical left arm was the person manning the vehicle careening down the highway at seventy-five miles an hour. “I’m not Steve. I’m Darcy.”

“He was my mission.”

“Steve?”

He adjusted his hands on the wheel and she could hear the whir of the arm shifting to accommodate. “Yes. Eliminate Steve Rogers.”

“ _Wait_ ,” Darcy said, turning in her seat. “Hold the front door. Steve _Rogers_. Dude, were you supposed to kill Captain America?”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“ _Did you?_ ”

“No, I aborted.”

“The mission? You aborted the mission? Is that why they’re after you?” When he didn’t respond, she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Holy shit. We need to get as far away from D.C. as we can.”

“I know,” he replied in a quiet voice that made her open her eyes and look over at him.

“Why’d you stop? Why didn't you kill him?”

“I knew him.” Saying the words seem to confuse him. He was just as surprised as she was about the statement.

“How?” she asked. “His plane crashed back in the forties and he’s been frozen until, like, two or three years ago or something. Did you fight with him or something? I mean, you’re with the bad guys, and I’m pretty sure he’s always been with the good guys.”

“I knew him,” the man repeated with more conviction.

Darcy sighed. “Okay okay. I believe you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Asset found comfort in silence and routine. He found comfort in doing, in carrying out the mission to the specifications and accomplishing the goal. A successful mission meant he could enjoy the oblivion of the cryogenic tank. He’d never considered whether that was odd until now. What would happen without the structure? Where would he rest?

Sometimes the woman beside him talked too much. Sometimes her mouth seemed to go faster than her brain and he could almost see the words tumbling from her lips. It was fascinating and unusual, not something he was accustomed to experiencing. When he tried to reply, he either couldn’t find the words or they felt thick and useless in his mouth.

She’d fallen asleep shortly after he’d taken over driving duties. The Asset found it strange that she would be so trusting of him. As she had pointed out, he’d abducted her at gunpoint and placed her in danger. He had no doubt HYDRA had identified her and would be searching for her cell phone signal. He’d powered the phone off before they’d managed to escape D.C. If Alexander Pierce was still alive and had retained some of the resources he’d had before the mission failed, then he would have already begun tracking the woman’s bank accounts. Shortly after she’d fallen asleep, The Asset had withdrawn as much money as the bank machine would allow from her account using the card he’d found in her wallet and the scribbled note tucked inside that had her access code. She had nearly three thousand dollars, but he’d only succeed in obtaining three hundred of it. His concept of money was vague, but for some reason, he thought her bank balance was exceptionally large. He had no use of money with the backing of HYDRA. Why did he marvel at the balance?

They were on a couple hours from Atlanta in an old and rundown neighborhood. He would eventually need to stop and rest if he intended to be efficient and capable of defending himself and the woman asleep in the passenger seat. She roused as he pulled off the highway and decelerated before coming to a stop at the exit ramp light.

“Where are we?” she asked, blinking at the glare of the streetlights above them.

“Georgia.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Three hours.”

“Ugh, I feel like I’m hungover,” she muttered, rubbing at her eyes and smearing the black makeup she’d coated her lashes with.

“We need to rest.”

She leaned her head back. “And eat. I’m starving.”

Eat. He swallowed the saliva in his mouth but didn’t understand why. The meals bars provided by his superiors did not elicit such reactions, though they offered all the nutrition necessary to fuel his body. “Food?” he asked, feeling that uneasy emotion creeping up on him—the same one that accompanied the flashes of memories that felt like his.

“Yeah,” she said. “If you find a motel, we can order pizza.”

He swallowed again. “You’re very agreeable.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “I’m realistic. Those guys know who I am now, don’t they?”

“Yes,” The Asset agreed.

“So, maybe you got me into this mess, but I wouldn’t stand a chance without you now. So, you’re stuck with me, Soldier. You needed my wheels and now I need a bodyguard. Didn’t you say you were looking for a mission?”

“Yes,” he agreed again.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered, reaching in the back and grabbing her brown bag. “My phone. They could be tracking my–”

“I shut it off hours ago before we left D.C.”

She found it and turned the dead phone over in her hands. “Oh. Good.” Sighing, she said, “You don’t think I could turn it on really quick and call someone, do you?”

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes again. “There’s a motel up there on the left.”

“I used your bank card to withdraw your cash. They may be monitoring your banking activity.”

She didn’t even blink when he made the admission. The Asset had been expecting a fight. He’d violated her privacy, and most did not take kindly to that. “Oh. Good thinking. Can they do that? Track my debit card?”

“Possible if the situation in D.C. didn’t upset the chain of command.” He pulled into the far end of the lot where there were no lights and no other cars.

“Well, that’s a bummer.” the woman said. When he moved to open his door, she held out a hand. “Uh, you probably want to stay in there. The, uh, leather look doesn’t exactly scream inconspicuous if you know what I mean.” She looked into her purse. “Did you put my money in here?”

He gave her a nod, but she wasn’t looking at him. She pulled out the wad of bills and peeled off a few twenties. The Asset watched as she opened the door and slipped out of the seat.

Once her feet were on the pavement, she turned back around and said, “You trust me to go in there and get a room without you pointing a gun at me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asked with a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“Because you know I can protect you better than anyone else,” he replied honestly.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, Soldier,” the woman said before shutting the door and hurrying across the parking lot to the office.

The Asset sat in the stolen Jeep with his hands on the wheel watching the glass door to the motel’s office. He couldn't see her and this didn't sit well with him. His concern was more about his ability to protect what he could not see than any worry over her turning him in. She was smart and had a firm grasp of the situation even if her mindset wasn't that of an operative.

The door swung open and she emerged. His gaze shifted to the shadows of the parking lot, ensuring that she wasn't in danger. He was so intent on scanning their surroundings that her finger tapping on the driver's side window was a surprise.

He opened the car door, and she held out a long sleeve red shirt. “You look like a maniac with that leather thing on. If we're trying to keep a low profile, then you might wanna wear this instead. I lifted it from the lost and found bin in the office.”

He accepted the cotton shirt and stepped out of the vehicle. Keeping to the shadows, he watched her retrieve the duffle bag from the car and motion for him to follow her. The ring that held the key to a room glinted around her middle finger in the weak light from the wall sconces next to each door.

She went to the room furthest from the office. The sidewalk in front was crumbling and the paint on the door was flaking off. “I hope one room is okay. Two beds, I promise,” she told him when he'd caught up.

The Asset kept his back to her so he could scan the lot. The odds of their location being known was minuscule at this point. The roads they had taken were not toll roads, and he'd used her card to obtain cash two hundred miles ago. “One is fine,” he replied absently.

She unlocked the door and swung it open. “Well,” she said as she flipped on the lamp by the door, “it's definitely no palace.”

The Asset pushed her inside and shut the door behind himself, throwing the deadbolt and pulling the blackout curtains shut.

“What the hell?” she asked, dropping her bags on the table by the window. “Are we in trouble?”

“Think. It's dark and you revealed us by turning on the light.” The surge of irritation over her reckless behavior dissipated quickly as he did a sweep of the small motel room. Two beds, one bathroom with a shower and a window large enough to escape from, one door entrance, one large window with ample covering. He liked the second exit in the bathroom but disliked the large glass window that looked out over the parking lot. It was a liability.

“Sorry,” she muttered, sitting down heavily on the foot of the bed closest to the door.

“No,” The Asset told her. “You take the other bed.”

She tossed him a look with more than a little attitude. “Okay, whatever, bossy-pants.”

“If they come through the door, I need to be first.”

“Jesus, dude. Is this that bad? Are they gonna hunt us down here?” she asked, moving over to the other bed.

“We need to be prepared.”

She rubbed her eyes and said, “Right. Can we just say we're safe for the night for my sanity?”

“Yes.”

The woman huffed out a breath. “Okay, cool. So… what now?”

“Rest. We’ll reevaluate in a few hours.”

She looked exhausted and wary when she looked up at him through her lashes. “How’s your shoulder?”

He rolled the left shoulder and felt the plates shift with the movement. “Fine.”

“Your right one. The one that got shot.”

The Asset glanced down at the hole in the leather. “Fine,” he repeated.

She flipped her hair back. “Where did you get the metal arm?”

When he opened his mouth to answer, he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. The Asset grabbed at the plates that connected to his body as he stumbled back. He was falling, but it never stopped. Falling and falling and falling without end. As soon as it began, it was over and he was standing by the table, his right hand pressed against its top to keep himself stable.

The woman was in front of his, concern in her blue eyes. He could feel the pressure of her hand on his upper arm through the leather. “Are you okay? You looked like you were going to pass out.”

The Asset jerked his arm away from her and stepped back toward the door. “Don’t touch me.” All he felt was revulsion at the sight of her delicate fingers on him. “Don’t,” he said again, a warning in the word, not a plea.

“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “Got it. No touching. I’m sorry.”

Trying to reel himself back in and find his bearings, The Asset flipped the thick curtain back and looked over the parking lot. “Rest,” he told her. “I’ll keep watch.”

She laughed under her breath. “I don’t think I can sleep. Are you sure your shoulder is okay? It looked pretty bad earlier. You should change the bandage and get that leather off. It won't heal if it doesn’t get air.”

“It’s fine.”

“Look, I’m no doctor, but…”

“It’s fine,” he said, voice firm.

She turned and walked away, returning to the bed furthest from the door. “You should at least wash it off before it gets infected.”

The Asset stood by the door and considered her words. He remembered hoses and harsh jets of water directed at him from a distance. The soapy water was lukewarm at best as it hit him and then spiraled down large drains in the floor. It was only done to spray the blood away after missions. Afterward, he could return to the dark, return to welcome oblivion. “Yes,” he agreed. “Spray.”

“What?” she asked. “Shower?”

The memory hit him like a freight train. He’d been exhausted from his time held captive by the enemy, but the hot water flowing over his bowed head felt like the sweetest thing in the world, like it could wash away everything.

“Hey, are you okay? Soldier? Hey.” Her voice was close, but she wasn’t touching him. When he opened his eyes, his hand was on the wall by the door and she was standing two feet away with concern on her face. Concern for him. The Asset turned away so he couldn’t see her.

“Good. I’m good,” he said, swallowing the anxiety in his throat.

“I think you need to go to the hospital,” she said. “Put on the shirt I gave you. I’ll drive. We’re far enough away that they won’t find us.”

The Asset turned to face her again. “No. It’s fine. I’m good.”

“I think you’re going into shock or something.”

“It’s not that,” he assured her. “Shower. I’ll shower.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she said, “Oh, okay. Uh, okay.” Her hands fluttered up to tuck strands of hair behind her ears and then she gestured toward the bathroom door. “Do you need help taking your thing off?”

“No,” he replied, reaching over to unzip it. The wound on his shoulder had stopped causing him pain almost an hour ago. He knew if he looked that it would be healed without any clue as to what had occurred.

“Your shoulder, the bullet wound,” she reminded him, reaching out to help before pulling her hands away. She was tactile, a toucher. The Asset didn’t touch unless he was killing or torturing. No one touched him unless it was to strap him into the machine. An ice-cold chill went down his spine as he thought about being rendered immobile with his head latched between the metal plates.

He stumbled back a step and shook his head before unhooking the zipper and pulling at the leather jacket.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, stepping closer to him. The Asset almost raised a hand to keep her at bay, but doing so might have resulted in him having to touch her. He did not touch. Instead, he looked down at the flawless skin on his shoulder where the ragged wound had been. “But… you were shot.”

“I heal quickly,” he said, dismissing her awe. “I’ll be fast. Keep watch while I wash up.”

The woman backed away. “Okay. Okay.”

“If you hear–”

“Oh, I’ll be busting into your shower if I hear anything,” she said, interrupting him.

The Asset stepped around her with the red shirt wadded up in his right hand. He shut himself up in the bathroom and avoided the mirror over the sink. He saw the movement of his body in it and shifted his gaze to the wall or the sink or the floor. Anywhere but the mirror. With trembling hands, he turned on the cold water before he unbuttoned his pants and let them drop to the floor along with the shirt she’d given him. Why had she thought of him while in the office? Why had she bothered? Her actions toward him were unfathomable. Why?

Before stepping under the spray, The Asset let the stream of water from the shower head hit his outstretched right hand. It was cold, familiar. And yet, he had memories of warm showers. Those memories weren’t many but were strong. He remembered baths, but those were a luxury now. They were decadent and lazy and a waste of effort. How did he come to have these memories?

Instead of stepping under the cold spray, The Asset turned the hot water on until the steady stream of water was almost the temperature of the air around him. He hesitated for another moment before turning the cold water off completely. Within seconds the water was hot to the point of discomfort. He relished the heat on the back of his hand before stepping into the white tub and leaning his head under the scalding stream. The heat and the moisture almost took his breath away, forcing him to grab onto the slick wall of the shower stall to keep himself upright.

The hot water felt so hypnotizing he stood under the spray for untold minutes, one hand on the wall and the other hanging limply at his side. By the time the stream turned cold, he realized he’d forgotten to use the bar of soap wrapped in paper on the edge of the sink. Instead of attempting to wash himself, he turned the water off and dried himself quickly with a towel. He lingered as he looked at the pieces of his body—his arms and legs, his stomach, his hands. He was still fairly wet when he pulled his pants back on and yanked the red shirt over his head.

With no small amount of trepidation, he opened the bathroom door and watched the steam escape into the larger motel room. He expected to see her waiting for him impatiently, wringing her hands with that expectant look in her eyes. Or he expected to see her gone. Instead, he found her lying on one of the beds, her face half buried in a pillow. She’d changed her clothing while he was in the shower and was wearing a pair of black shorts and a white shirt. One leg was extended and the other was hitched up as she lay half on her stomach, arms cradling the pillow her face was resting on.

Everything about her was soft and smooth and foreign to The Asset. The curve of her ass and her delicate toes, and the fine hair on her forearms—all of it was novel and strange and fascinating. He sat down heavily on the other bed and watched her body rise and fall with each breath. He’d intended on keeping watch, but perhaps he could do so from his position on the bed. Perhaps he could breathe in with her and breathe out with her and rid himself of the anxiety that crept up on him each time he stopped to think.


	4. Chapter 4

 

> _“What if it hurts like hell? Then it’ll hurt like hell. Come on over, come on over here. I’m in the ruins, too.” - Snow Patrol (What If This Is All the Love You’ll Ever Know)_

Darcy woke up in the dark. It wasn’t the usual darkness of her unlit bedroom. It was complete darkness. Panic shot through her mind, urging her to move. She rolled over and sat up, trying to place herself. The previous day came back as she remembered everything that had happened at once. A soft glow outlined the window of the motel room, but the sunlight was faint and only seeping in through the edges of the blackout curtains.

Her heart was still hammering in her chest as she put her feet on the floor. A moment later, a small lamp by the window turned on and revealed the man with the metal arm sitting at the table.

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to shake the haze of sleep from her head.

“I’m keeping watch while you sleep.”

“Dude, you need to sleep, too. What time is it?”

“Mid-afternoon.”

She glanced around the room. The alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds was dark. “Did you unplug this?”

“Yes, I unplugged it.”

Darcy pushed her tangled hair out of her face. “Why?”

He hesitated for a moment before he said, “I like the dark. It was too bright.”

“You like the dark,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay. Okay, whatever. Are we safe? Do they know where we are?”

His right ankle was crossed over his left knee and his left forearm was resting on the table. The metal reflected the yellow lamplight, making his arm almost look golden. “No sign of our position being compromised,” he told her.

“Uh, good to hear… Soldier.”

He nodded at her, but his steady and unnerving gaze didn’t shift away. Darcy wanted to squirm under the weight of his appraisal.

“Do you want me to… Should I take over keeping watch so you can sleep?”

His face was impassive when he said, “I don’t need sleep.”

“You don’t need sleep just like you didn’t need a doctor for a bullet in your shoulder?” she asked.

“Correct.”

“You can go forever without sleep?”

“No.”

“Then sleep, dude. Sleep and we’ll figure out what we should do. I paid for two night in this room.”

“I don’t need the sleep. We should keep moving when night falls. Going out in daylight is a risk. They could be monitoring public cameras for our images.”

Darcy swallowed as dread set into her gut. “If I dye my hair, will that help?”

“No. Facial recognition would still work.”

“Oh. Well, that sucks.” Darcy sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “So, we’re leaving when it gets dark?”

“Yes.”

She stood up and walked over to sit in the chair opposite him. His eyes tracked her movements, but he didn’t twitch a muscle. “What do we do for the next few hours?” Darcy asked.

“Wait.”

She laughed softly under her breath and settled back into the chair. In some ways he was absolutely terrifying. She’d seen him play the role of a killing machine with disturbing elegance and grace. Even in these quieter moments, he wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. And yet, despite their rocky beginnings that involved her abduction, Darcy found that she trusted him. He’d gone out of his way to save her on more than one occasion, and he’d not touched her during those hours she’d been asleep in a bed just feet away. “Will you talk to me?” she asked, looking at his metal fingers on the wooden tabletop.

“I _am_ talking to you,” he replied.

“Do you remember anything about your past? Anything about who you are?”

“I am... a... soldier for HYDRA.” He said the words, but they sounded more like a question than a statement.

“HYDRA. That’s who is after us, right?”

“Yes.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose. “Well, sounds like you might not be their soldier anymore. Did you defect? You said your mission was to kill Captain America, so…”

His entire body tensed at the mention of Captain America. “I…” She watched his brows furrow and his eyes drop to the floor as confusion settled over his features. “I failed. I left. I saved him.”

“You saved Captain America?”

“Steve,” he insisted.

“Yes, his name is Steve Rogers. He… he was in the army during the War. They shot him up with serum, and he turned into some beefcake and saved a bunch of people. Then he crashed a plane. They found him a few years ago. He’s been saving the world since then. He’s, like, a celebrity.” Darcy leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. “Is he… is he, like, your nemesis?”

His eyes shifted from the floor to the wall and then to her before returning to the floor. “No. I knew him.”

“Knew? When did you know him?”

He frowned. “I called him punk.”

This made Darcy smile. “So, wait, were you two friends?”

“Friends,” he said, but the word sounded awkward and strange the way he said it.

“Who _are_ you?” she wondered, asking the question more to herself than him. “We'll figure it out.”

“We?” he said.

“Yeah.”

He shifted in the seat and put both feet flat on the ground. His gaze was fixed on a point across the room, but she couldn't see much in the dim light.

“Why do you like the dark?”

His eyes shifted from left to right before he looked up at her. “Rest is in the dark.”

“You know, most people have bad memories of dark rooms because darkness is scary.”

He seemed equal parts sad and confused. “There was never anything to fear in the dark, only in the light.”

She waited for him to continue and when he didn't, she said, “That sounds super profound and way over my head, Soldier.” After a moment of awkward silence, she asked, “Do you want to turn the lamp off?”

“Yes.” If she wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of relief in his tone.

Darcy reached over and pushed in the switch beneath the shade, plunging the room into nearly complete darkness. With the bathroom door shut and the curtains drawn, she could only see the weak sunlight around the edges of the single window.

After what felt like several minutes of tense silence, he said, “You’re not afraid of me.”

“Well, you've saved my ass more than once. Don't think I'm not grateful.”

“I put you in danger.”

“You know,” Darcy said, “I don't want to make excuses, but it seems to me that you've got a lot of shit going on in your brain and maybe you didn't really mean to fuck up my week.”

He didn’t respond immediately, letting several minutes of silence stretch out between them. When he finally did speak, he sounded lost. “I… There are memories. In me. Memories in me and I think they are mine, but I don't understand. I…”

Darcy held her breath and waited for him to continue, but he seemed unable to find the words that would finish his thought, articulate what he wanted to say. She took mercy on him and said, “That sucks, dude. When did the memories start coming back to you?”

“I don’t know. Right before you. Maybe earlier.” He sighed. “Yesterday. Day before yesterday. Earlier?” His voice was soft and gentle.

“What brought them on? Did something happen?” she whispered back to him in the dark. “You mentioned Steve Rogers.”

“Yes, Steve Rogers. I knew him.”

She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “If I was allowed to turn on my cell phone, then we could search through pictures or articles and see if something triggers your memory about how you know him.”

“No.”

“I know,” she told him. “No phones allowed. They know who I am and could track it.”

“I don’t want this,” he whispered.

“What? Being on the run with me?”

“The memories.”

Darcy’s heart ached for him even though she didn’t really know him all that well. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up with a broken assassin who was having an identity crisis. Leave it to her and the wacky shit that happened in her life. “Are they… bad?”

He didn’t answer right away. The three words settled in the air between them, filling the darkness. Finally, he said, “Not all of them. Some. Most are.”

“Would you tell me a good memory?”

“I… I can’t. They’re… short, scattered.”

“Incomplete,” she offered.

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Darcy said, “Maybe you could write them down on cards. And then you could start putting the cards in order.”

He didn’t reply. She sat there across the table from him in the nearly pitch black room and tried to tell herself that his lack of response might be good. It might mean that he was giving serious consideration to her suggestion.

“I remember a cold metal table. I remember my shoulder hurting.” His voice was barely a whisper, but the room was so very quiet.

“The left one?” she said on an exhale.

“Yes. There was a doctor. He had an accent.”

“What kind of accent?”

“I don't know. German? I think he gave me this arm. I think…” He sounded unsure and worried.

“It’s okay,” Darcy assured him. “It'll come back to you and then you'll be able to put the pieces of the puzzle together.”

Silence was his only answer before he murmured, “Who are you?” She couldn't see him, but she could feel his eyes on her as she shifted in her armchair.

“I told you. My name is Darcy. I work for a lobbying firm in D.C.” When he didn’t respond, she continued with, “I love coffee and hate mayo and I think I made a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Yeah. You’re thinking I made a mistake by going along with you and all these shenanigans, don’t you? Wrong. I made a mistake taking the job in D.C.”

“Because it put you in danger.” He said the words like they were fact and he agreed.

Darcy laughed softly. “No. Because I think it was sucking my soul out of my body.”

He shifted.

“Not literally,” Darcy assured him. “Figuratively. I didn’t realize it was so bad until you kidnapped me or whatever you did. You know what I was thinking of last night when we were driving away from D.C.?”

“What?” he asked.

She chuckled again. “That I wasn’t going to make it to work tomorrow and maybe they’d fire me and maybe I could be free again. Which is, like, insane because I’m far from free. We’re being chased by some assholes with a disgusting amount of intel and lots of guns they seem to enjoy shooting at me. That’s not really my idea of freedom, but… I’m… relieved. No work today. That’s fucked up.”

“You’re relieved. I don’t understand.” His voice was flat, but then again, the guy didn’t show much emotion when he wasn’t stumbling around the room looking like he was lost and close to passing out either.

“I felt like I was in prison,” Darcy said.

“Prison,” he repeated, sounding very far away. “Prison…”

“I’m being stupid,” she told him. “Actually, I’m being dramatic. I could have quit whenever I wanted. I mean, I saved up a bunch, enough to get me through a few months if I’m not blowing the money on stupid shit.” Darcy laughed at herself. “I buy a lot of stupid shit that I don’t need.”

“Example?”

She looked over at him, but the room was too dark to see anything but the outline of the back of his head which was only a few inches from where the curtain laid against the window frame. “Example? Of the stupid shit I buy?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, well… action figures from my favorite movies, flashlights that strobe, books I never read, backpacks I never use, fans. I love fans.”

“Fans?”

“Yeah. Fans that blow on you. I usually can’t sleep without the sound of one. I must have been tired last night.”

“This morning,” he corrected.

She smiled. “Yeah, this morning. My days are wonky.” After a moment of silence, she said, “I almost always give away or lose all this shit I buy. I mean, I’ve lived in a gazillion different places in the past few years. Can’t really take everything with me. I just… like to blow my money on dumb things.”

“Your profession… it requires you relocate?”

“No. Not really. Not this one, not the one I hate. I used to work for an astrophysicist. We traveled a lot. I thought I needed out, so I got this job in D.C.”

“Out,” he said. “You needed out… I…”

She held her breath and waited, but he didn’t finish the thought. “Did you need out, too? Is that what happened?”

His metal arm whirred in the dark as the plates shifted. The sound sparked a simmering panic deep down in her gut. She wondered if she’d pushed him too far and now he’d strangle her with that intimidating hand. Instead, he shifted in his chair and sighed. “I’m out,” he said, disbelief in his tone. “Out.”

Darcy smiled in the dark and said, “Yep. You’re good and out if those guys are trying to kill you.”

“I’m…”

When he didn’t finish she said, “Well, you’re not HYDRA, that’s for sure.”

“No,” he agreed, “I’m… not HYDRA. I’m...”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “You’ll remember your name one day. You better tell me so I’ll know what to call you. Soldier is a little weird.”

“But it’s what I am.”

“No, it’s what you do sometimes. You’re not a soldier now. You’re… you.”

“Me,” he replied softly.

 

* * *

 

 

She was in the shower. He could hear the sound the water made as it hit her skin. He imagined he could also hear it sliding down her body in rivulets. The Asset curled his metal fingers into the palm of his hand and thought about what a strange person she was. She should be fearful of him. Everyone was fearful, even those who served with him, even the doctors who clamped the steel plates against his head before the electricity made him blackout from the searing pain. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what that oblivion felt like, but he could only remember the pain, unable to conjure up the sensation of anything else.

The light from the edges of the curtain was weaker than it had been a few minutes ago when she’d asked him to turn on the lamp before she’d slipped away into the bathroom with her black bag. Once she was gone, he’d turned the light out again and settled into uneasy thoughts of her and why he hadn’t left her here in this roadside motel just off the highway.

Because they’d find her and kill her. She’d be two hundred thirty-seven, and that made his stomach turn because he _liked_ her. The Asset couldn’t explain why, but he did. Her blue eyes and dark hair and full lips were pleasing to look at. So were her bare legs and the heart-shape of her ass in the cotton shorts when she’d walked toward the bathroom door. He liked the way her soft voice sounded in the dark, pulling him out of his head and giving him focus.

The water shut off and he stood up to pull back the edge of the curtain. The sun had already set and the sky was a dark, muted blue. It would be night soon and they could move. He wasn’t sure where, but he knew they needed to keep moving. They needed a new vehicle and more cash from her bank account. He didn’t believe HYDRA had the ability to cut off her funds, but he did not know the extent of their tendrils. Them, not him. _Not me_ , he thought as he reminded himself of the distance now. He had no master but himself. It was a strange feeling.

“You okay, Soldier?”

He looked up to see her standing in the bathroom doorway with her bag under her arm. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt the color of her eyes. “Fine,” he assured her, uncurling his hand from the curtain and checking to ensure his nine-millimeter pistol was properly holstered on his belt. He flipped on the lamp for her.

“Sometimes you go far away. Like, far away inside,” she said, putting the bag on the bed and sitting down next to it to pull on a pair of socks.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “We’ll leave at nightfall. We need more cash and another vehicle.”

She stared at him for a moment, blinked twice, and then bent her head to laugh.

“What?” The Asset asked.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I just never thought I’d be participating in grand theft auto while I clear out my bank account and go on the run with some super buff and intimidatingly hot guy who makes me call him Soldier.”

He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but a memory flashed across his consciousness, nearly knocking him onto his ass. His arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders as they walked through a crowd toward two girls in skirts with their hair curled just so and bright red color on their lips.

“Hey. Hey, are you okay, dude?” She was standing only a couple feet away with a hand outstretched to him. His were pressed against the tabletop to keep himself upright.

“Don’t touch me,” he warned.

She pulled away. “Okay, okay, okay. No touching. I’m sorry. I just… you staggered and almost fell over. What happened?”

“Nothing. Pack your things,” he snapped.

She recoiled and retreated to her bag without another word. The Asset understood that he’d hurt her feelings, but he didn’t understand how he knew or why he cared. Feelings had no place in war. _This isn’t war_ , he reminded himself. This is survival. This is life. This is freedom.

“Freedom,” he muttered.

She looked up after she zipped the black bag. “What?”

“Nothing,” The Asset replied. After a moment of tense silence, he clenched his hands into fists. “We’re both free. You and I.”

Her eyes narrowed and then she gave him a slight smile. “Yeah. We’re free. Where are we gonna go?”

“Away from here,” he said. The light around the edges of the curtain was almost gone. “Pack your things. We need to leave soon.”

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

The Asset was anxious as he watched her. Anxiety is not something he was accustomed to experiencing. He executed orders, he fought, and he killed. Life was simple. Life had been simple until recently when he felt like that frozen core inside him had started to melt, leaking all over him as he tried to make sense of the flashes of memories and the way he felt for the man he’d been told to kill. Or even the way he felt for the woman who was standing a few yards away.

He watched the back of her head as she stood at the cash machine and wondered how something so delicate was still alive in this world of violence and blood. She’d so easily accepted a change in her trajectory, even going so far as to tell him she welcomed what had happened. What kind of person welcomed this chaos, this indecision?

She was taking too long. HYDRA was good, but The Asset didn’t think they would be able to lock into their location and arrive within five minutes, especially in a random location that had no bearing on his previous mission. He adjusted his grip on the wheel and considered getting out to drag her back. His mind kept playing and replaying scenarios in which she was shot in the back of the head or snatched from his grasp by HYDRA. In these scenarios, they lured him back into the fold by holding her hostage. As much as The Asset wanted to believe these tactics wouldn’t succeed, deep down he knew he’d have to return to save her.

“Hurry, hurry,” he muttered under his breath. “Darcy.” She’d said it was her name, but he’d not used it before. He thought of her as _the woman_ because it made things easier. Now that she’d shared the darkness with him and whispered to him in her sweet voice, his mind kept tripping over her name. “Darcy,” he repeated again before she turned around and hurried back to the dark red sedan he’d stolen four blocks from their motel room.

She opened the door and slipped down into the seat next to him with the bills pinched between her fingers. “Okay,” she said when the door clicked shut, “let’s go.”

He was already pressing down on the gas and pulling into traffic. They needed to get on the highway and as far away from the location where she’d withdrawn cash. “What took you so long?” he asked.

“If you do multiple transactions, it lets you take out more than three hundred. I got nine hundred. That should keep us going for a while.” She paused as he turned and merged into traffic headed toward the entrance ramp to the highway going west. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s probably for the best. If we don’t know, then they can’t, right?”

He glanced over at her and saw how nervous she looked. “Right,” he agreed, even though he didn’t necessarily believe it.

Darcy shoved the cash in her purse and fastened her seatbelt. The Asset watched her from the corner of his eye as she leaned her head back and sighed. “You know,” she said, “you should let me drive later tonight so you can get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

After a moment of tense silence, she said, “You don’t trust me.”

“I trust you,” he replied immediately, not even thinking twice about his answer. The Asset had only trusted the mission, his orders, his superiors. He had never trusted dark-haired women with kind eyes and soft voices who wanted to help him. Now things were upended and the mission wasn’t to be trusted and the beautiful woman in the passenger seat was.

“Sure you do,” she teased with a smile.

The Asset pressed his lips together as he tried to smile. It felt strained, but he did manage to lift the corners of his mouth. “You can drive later. I’ll get us out of town.”

Her smile was bigger this time, white teeth flashing in his periphery. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Soldier.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

> _“You dig a hole. I fill it up with you. You’re my shot. I kiss it ‘til it’s true.” - Tsar B (Escalate)_

She sat quietly in the passenger seat and watched him navigate the congested traffic around Atlanta with calm efficiency. He weaved the sporty little car he had stolen through the lanes of traffic on the bypass around the city and ended up on a state highway going west toward Birmingham. After nearly two hours, they were almost out of gas.

“I’ll pay, you pump,” she told him, grabbing her purse.

“Okay,” he agreed without a fight. It was the first thing he’d said to her since the conversation after she’d pulled the money out of the ATM.

He was less conspicuous with the red long-sleeve shirt on, but he still stood out like a sore thumb. Despite the five o’clock shadow and the unkempt hair—or perhaps because of them—he looked gorgeous and deadly. As she walked through the convenience store, she watched him carefully hide his metal left hand from sight by holding it against his thigh, away from the view of the other two cars at the gas pumps.

She grabbed pre-made sandwiches and chips and bottles of water, filling her arms with sustenance since they hadn’t eaten for a day. As the cashier rang up the purchases, she caught sight of a pack of ruled index cards hanging from a pegboard on the wall behind the counter. “Can I have two packs of index cards and a pen?” she asked. The cashier added them to her total before she paid for the food and gas.

He was finished and standing by the car when she walked out carrying the two bags of food and water hooked over her arms. She’d added two large coffees at the last minute, and those were in each hand.

“What is this?” he asked as she approached.

Darcy offered him one of the coffees, careful not to stand too close or touch his hand when he reached out to take it. “Coffee, food, and water. Aren’t you hungry?”

He looked down at the cup in his hand before bringing it up to his nose to sniff the opening. Darcy watched as the smell of the coffee hit him and knocked him back. It wasn’t much of a stumble—more like a lean back against the door of the vehicle—but for someone like him who didn’t seem to make any movement that wasn’t necessary, it was alarming.

“Hey, Soldier, are you okay?” she murmured, stepping a little closer.

He looked up at her with the wild eyes of someone who’d had their world flipped upside down. “Coffee,” he said, softly. “I remember coffee.”

“Okay. That’s good, right? Coffee is good.”

“Coffee is good,” he repeated in a dazed voice.

Darcy watched him smell the cup again. “Okay,” she said, walking around to the passenger side and juggling her purchases so she could open the door. “Why don’t you ride and I’ll drive? Maybe you can drink coffee and remember your name.”

He joined her by the passenger door, the cup held in his right hand while his left was pressed against the fabric of his black pants. “You need to eat,” he told her. Of all things Darcy was expecting, his concern about her meals was not it. He’d not even mentioned food while they were at the motel back on the outskirts of Atlanta.

“Get in,” she told him. “I’ll eat a sandwich before we get back on the road. I’ll be quick.”

He followed her orders and got in, cradling the styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands as if it were gold. Darcy handed him her cup of coffee after he was settled in and shut the door before running around the car and dropping down into the driver’s seat. After sticking a bottle of water in the cup holder of the door and directing him to put her cup of coffee in the cup holder of the console between their seats, she pulled two sandwiches out of the bag and let one drop onto his lap. He looked down at it like he’d never seen something so strange.

“You okay there, Soldier?” she asked, unwrapping her sandwich and stowing the bags on the floor of the back seat.

“What?” he asked her, looking between the coffee and the sandwich on his thighs.

“You okay? You look like you don’t know what that is.”

“Food,” he told her.

Darcy bit into her sandwich and groaned. “Oh, god, this is so good. I mean, I know this probably doesn’t rank on the scale of acceptable food since it came out of a gas station, but beggars can’t be choosers. Right? I’m starved.”

He furrowed his brows and watched her eat like he’d never seen someone do so before.

“You’re making me nervous,” Darcy said around the food in her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, dropping his gaze to his lap again.

She swallowed and said, “Anything come back to you? Any memories?”

He lifted the cup of coffee to his mouth but didn’t drink. He just smelled it again. “A beat-up tin mug with a bent handle. Filled with coffee. Smelled like this and tasted terrible, but I drank it and loved it because it meant I was free.”

“Free?”

“Steve helped me escape.”

“Wait,” she said, chewing another bite as she hurried to finish her dinner. “Steve Rogers saved you? Captain America saved you?”

“Sergeant. Three, two, five, five, seven.” After he’d said the words, he looked over at her with wide eyes filled with fear.

“What did you just say, Soldier?”

He shook his head.

“You said sergeant. Was that your number after that? Are you in the military?” She let the sandwich she’d been holding up to her mouth drop down to her lap. “Oh shit, what if you’re a POW or something?”

“No,” he told her. “No, no, no.” He shook his head emphatically as he seemed to consider the implications of what she’d said.

Darcy turned in her seat. “Look, I know there’s more going on than just the military activity over in the Middle East. I mean, I’ve seen some shit, dude. We need to look up the number you said. What was the number again? Three, two….”

“No,” he told her again.

“Come on, Soldier. Three, two…”

His gaze shifted from her to the windshield to the stereo controls to the coffee cup in his hand. “Three, two, five, five, seven,” he whispered. “Sergeant. Three, two, five, five, seven”

“Three, two, five, five, seven. Three, two, five, five, seven,” she whispered back as she tried to commit the numbers to memory.

“Three, two, five, five, seven,” the man repeated, watching her with those eyes that looked feral and hurt. “Sergeant.”

Darcy turned her attention back to her sandwich. “So,” she said around a bite of food, “should I start calling you Sergeant, now? Sarge?”

“Sergeant Jah….”

“Sergeant Jah-what?” she asked. “Did you remember your name?”

He shook his head and looked down at the sandwich in his lap. “No.” With more conviction, he said, “No,” and again and followed that up with, “We need to move. We’re too close to where the car was stolen and where you used the cash machine.”

Darcy finished her sandwich and wadded the wrapper up before tossing it in the backseat. “Okay, okay. Let’s go. Drink your coffee and eat your sandwich. How long has it been since you slept, anyway?”

His brows drew together as she started the car and put it in drive. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “There were no orders to…”

She pulled into traffic. “Orders to what? Sleep?”

“Yes,”

“Dude,” Darcy said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You don’t need orders to sleep, but if you think you do, then I’ll hand ‘em out. Eat, drink, and sleep. My three fav things.”

“Okay,” he replied as settled his coffee into the cup holder and unwrapped the sandwich.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he bit into it. His eyes fluttered closed as he chewed. Darcy held her breath and didn’t say anything when he took a second bite. Finally, she asked, “Is it good?”

“Yes,” he said on a sharp exhale before taking a third bite. He looked ravenous, and by the time she got on the highway, the sandwich was almost gone.

“There are chips in the grocery bag back there,” she told him. He retrieved the chips and ate the entire bag in ten minutes. She couldn’t help but smile as she saw him licking the salt off his fingertips. It was such a human thing to do, and she could see the strange machine she’d been interacting with start to fade into a real person. “Here,” she said, handing over her bottle of water.

He downed it in a few seconds before saying, “Thank you, doll.”

They both froze when the term of endearment slipped out of his mouth to sit awkwardly in the air. “Doll?” Darcy asked.

His mouth opened and closed as he tried to find an explanation. “I… I…”

“It’s okay,” she told him. “I don’t mind. That’s just… a weird term of endearment nowadays. Where the hell did you even hear that?”

He shook his head. “I… don’t know. It just… I just… It came out.”

She sped up to pass a large truck before merging back into the slow lane and setting the cruise control to avoid any chance of her speeding and them being pulled over in a stolen vehicle. “Isn’t that what guys used to call women decades ago? It’s not really used much anymore.”

“I…”

She waved away his confusion even though her brain was darting back and forth trying to pull some meaning from what he’d said. “Don’t worry about it, Sarge. Drink your coffee.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they hit Memphis, he was asleep in the passenger seat, curled in on himself like he was a little boy. Darcy hadn’t really seriously considered what trauma he’d been through, but sometimes that haunted look in his eyes and the way he held himself made her sure that he’d been through more than she could imagine. It was hard to look at him as a victim when he was so competent and so deadly.

She drove another three hours toward St. Louis before she stopped for gas. He stirred and eventually woke as the car decelerated on the exit ramp. “Hey,” she said softly, “how was your sleep?”

He cleared his throat and sat up in the seat. “Good.”

Darcy glanced down at her coffee cup. “There’s still some coffee in my cup if you don’t mind drinking after me.”

Without a word, he picked up the cup and downed the cold remains. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“We need gas, and I need to pee.”

Once she’d found a gas station and obtained the bathroom key from the cashier, she relieved herself and stood in front of the dirty mirror over the sink. Her eyes were wide with dark circles underneath, and her hair was a mess. She used the elastic on her wrist to pull it back into a high ponytail after brushing it out with her fingers as much as possible. Darcy wondered what that man with the metal arm thought when he saw her. It didn’t really matter, though. All that did matter was that he wasn’t a threat to her and he was willing to go to great lengths to keep her alive.

When she returned to the car with two large coffees, he was in the driver’s seat with his eyes focused straight ahead.

“Here,” Darcy told him, leaning in and offering one of the cups. He took it, careful not to touch her hand. “Where to now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, sipping at the coffee right away. “Any ideas?”

“Let’s go north. South is humid and that’s messing up my hair.”

He looked over at her and with an emotionless voice said, “Your hair is fine.”

She laughed softly and buckled her seat belt before picking her coffee back up. “Thanks, Sarge. I appreciate the vote of approval.”

“North,” he said, putting the car into gear.

 

* * *

 

 

The dark sky was turning a pale blue with tinges of pink to their right. It was the sun beginning to rise. She’d been calling him Sarge, and now he was beginning to think of himself in those terms. Sergeant. Three, two, five, five, seven. Sarge. _Sergeant._

“Barnes,” he murmured under his breath.

“What?” she asked, looking over at him.

He didn’t dare look in her direction in that moment. A feeling of unease settled into his mind as he thought about the name. Was it his name? Was he Sergeant Barnes? “Nothing,” he replied. “The sun is coming up. We need to stop.”

He pulled off at the next exit. They were close to the outskirts of St. Louis and the motels were plentiful. It was easy to find a cheap one with a vacancy. He watched her go into the office to rent the room and pay. The tension in her body as she glanced around the parking lot for attackers settled a weight in the pit of his stomach. She deserved more than a cheap motel room while she fled. While she fled _with him_ , a murderer, an assassin, a...

Sarge frowned. “Barnes,” he said as he remembered saluting his superior officer in his freshly-pressed uniform. The starch held the creases in the material, making him look snappy. “Sergeant Barnes.”

The passenger door opened and she leaned in. “It’s got a whirlpool tub if you want to be decadent and take a bath,” she said with a smile on her face. The smile melted away when she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he told her, opening his door and pushing himself out of the car.

“Don’t bullshit me, Sarge,” the woman said as she opened the back door and grabbed her bags.

Sarge watched her, frowning as she struggled to carry everything. “Here,” he said holding out a hand. “Give them to me.”

“I’ll carry my own bags,” she said.

“Darcy, give them to me.”

They both froze at his use of her name. Sarge opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. “You said my name,” she whispered.

“So?” he replied, extending his hand again. “I’ll carry the bags. Go find the room.”

She held the duffle out by the strap, but he grabbed the fabric of the bag to avoid touching her hand. He did the same with the plastic bags from the gas station. She kept her purse and slung it over her shoulder before turning to walk toward the building with rooms lined along the parking lot. She opened the door to the end room and walked in before him.

After he’d shut the door, she turned around and said, “Do you think we’re safe? Do you think they’re still after us?”

“We’re safe for now.”

She used the remote on the nightstand to turn on the television and tune into the morning newscast. The anchor went through several local stories until they got to the coverage for what had happened in D.C. a couple nights before. Darcy was sitting on the foot of the bed by then, her attention focused on the report. He’d put her bags on the other bed and was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips as the footage of the helicarrier hitting the ground played.

“That’s fucking insane,” she said.

“I was there,” he replied, watching in fascination as the aerial footage showed the wreckage in flames on the ground.

“Who brought those things down? You or him?”

“Him,” he told her without a thought. “Pierce… Pierce built them.”

“Yeah, that was the word on the street right after it happened. The head of the Security Council. Wild.”

“He’s HYDRA.” Sarge shook his head as the pieces started falling into place. “Pierce is HYDRA. Undercover. They were to control the population, to keep them in line. SHIELD is a front now. It’s… nothing.”

She looked back at him, confusion on her face. He watched as the pieces fell into place for her as well. “Wait, what that fuck? Are you saying the mission was to keep Captain America from taking out the helicarriers?”

“No, my mission was to eliminate him.”

“Kill,” she said.

“Kill,” Sarge agreed.

“Fuck,” Darcy said under her breath. “Who the hell are you that they think you could take out Captain America?”

“I didn’t,” he told her.

“Yeah, but by choice. You just told me that–”

“He took out the helicarriers on his own,” Sarge told her, closing his eyes as he saw the way Steve had looked up at him as he’d slammed his fist into Steve’s head again and again. The punk hadn’t fought back, had refused to fight back. “You’re my mission,” Sarge whispered.

“What?” she asked.

“To the end of the line,” he said.

She stood up and was only a couple feet away when he opened his eyes. “To the end of what line?” she asked.

He felt like he could see those words trickle out of her mouth and float in the air, all wavy like gasoline fumes. Stumbling back a step, he said, “Nothing. Nothing. I failed because I pulled him from the water. He would have drowned.”

“You said you saved him because you knew him. Are you sure you weren’t on his STRIKE team? I mean, what if you got captured by the other side in whatever war he’s fighting against HYDRA or SHIELD or whatever. Hell, I don’t know anymore. But, like, what if you were captured and they wiped your memory?”

Sarge felt his knees go out as he sat down heavily on the bed. The mattress bounced when he landed. “No,” he told her.

“Yes, Sarge. We need to look up your number. Three, two, five, five, seven. I just don’t know how we’re going to look it up without turning on my phone or finding internet somewhere.”

“No,” he said more forcefully.

Darcy sighed as she sat down on the bed opposite him. Their knees were inches apart, and that made him nervous. After a moment of silence, she pointed to the plastic grocery bag he’d brought in. “I bought you index cards. They’re in there. You should use them to write down your memories.”

“No,” he said again.

“Look, Sarge. I don’t think you’re gonna get to go back to blissful ignorance anytime soon, especially if you stay on the run. It’s probably better to figure out who you are through those memories than to keep on being denial central, if you know what I mean.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She smiled, but it looked sad and very tired to him. Sarge still thought it was strange he could see these nuances in her. “You don’t have to show me anything. I won’t read the cards. Can you write? Do you remember how?”

Furrowing his brows, he thought about her question before closing his eyes. He could almost feel the fingers of his right hand pinching a pen. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good. Write down that shit that keeps knocking you off your feet. Maybe getting it out of you will help give it less of a hold. Look, not that I don’t care about your well-being or whatever, but it’s in my best interest to have you in good mental and physical shape if these assholes come at us again.”

“Yes,” he agreed

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Hey, you don’t think I could turn my phone on for, like, two minutes, do you? My mom is used to not hearing from me for days at a time, but not Jane. She’s probably worried.”

“Jane?”

She shifted and said, “Yeah, my friend. Her name is Jane.”

“No,” he told her, “no phones.”

Darcy pressed her lips together. “Okay. Fine. I’ll find a payphone.”

“No,” he said. “They could be monitoring her phone.”

“Look, how do these guys have so much info if you just fucked up their entire operation? I mean, the news just said Pierce is missing, presumed dead in the wreckage of that building. If he was running the show, then they don’t have a director.”

“HYDRA has many heads,” Sarge said, the familiar phrase he’d heard repeated again and again finding its way from the depths of his subconsciousness to the still air of the motel room. As soon as he’d said the ominous phrase, their air conditioner kicked on with a whine and they both jumped.

“Jesus,” she muttered, a hand on her chest. “I just lost, like, three years of my life.”

“We’ve been careful. We should be safe for now.”

Darcy rubbed at her eyes. He looked at the dark circles that stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin. She glanced over her shoulder to the doorway of the bathroom. “Hey, I’ve gotta pee. After, you should take a shower and get some sleep.”

“You sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

She frowned. “I thought you said we were safe.”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep watch.”

Standing, she rubbed her palms down the front of her thighs, smoothing the creases from her jeans. “Fine. Whatever you say, Sarge.”

After she disappeared, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the small room. One door. Two windows to the left of it, and a noisy air conditioning unit in the wall below those windows. There was a narrow, upholstered armchair by the television stand. He could pull it away from the wall and sit at the foot of the beds, facing the doorway. Sarge stood and unplugged the alarm clock and turned off the television. The curtains on the windows were already closed and made of heavy fabric. With just a small amount of rearranging, they would shut out most of the ambient light from the parking lot. He longed to be enveloped in darkness again where he hoped he could turn off these memories and what thoughts they brought into his mind.

“Sergeant Barnes,” he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. It was familiar. So familiar. “Steve Rogers and Buh–”

“Steve Rogers and who?” she asked, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Buh… No,” he said as he trailed off again. “No one. Nothing.”

“I swear, you must have been on the SHIELD STRIKE team if you’re so obsessed with him.”

“How do you know of this team,” he asked her, pulling the chair over by the beds.

Darcy watched him for a moment before she said, “I know someone who knows someone. This isn’t my first life-or-death rodeo, believe it or not.”

“Good. Then you should get some sleep while I take the watch. You can drive tonight.”

Darcy twirled her index finger in the air. “Woo! Teamwork!” she said, her tone filled with sarcasm.

Sarge wondered at the subtleties of her that he picked up on now and then. She was more complicated than he was accustomed to. His interactions for all these years had only consisted of orders and debriefings.

She folded her legs under her as she sat down on the bed furthest from the door in her little pair of shorts and T-shirt. He tried to pull his gaze away from her legs but ended up looking long enough for her to notice. “Hey,” she said, “are we sleeping in the dark again tonight.”

Mention of darkness released some of the tension in his chest. “Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope. Just wanted to know what to expect when I wake up. Pitch black is a little disorienting. If that’s what floats your boat, though, then go for it.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, dropping his gaze to the floor. She was a very kind, understanding person. The Asset didn’t know how to comprehend that kind of person, and Sarge wasn’t much better at sorting out such an enigma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who had left a comment telling me that they are reading or what they love. You guys are the best!


	6. Chapter 6

 

> _“I get up early, I look around me. Can’t help but wonder what you mean. ‘Cause when I’m sleeping, I’m so deep in it. So much more real to me, closer than reality.” - Black Lab (Keep Myself Awake)_

Darcy woke disoriented again, but before panic could take over she remembered where she was and who she was with. The room was comfortably cool as the air conditioning unit hummed. It was the only sound, and the only light was a thin sliver that denoted the edges of the window where the curtain hung a fraction of an inch too short to block it all. She sat up first, then stood with her fingertips still on the mattress. She used it as a guide to skirt around the bed. From there, she was able to run her hands along the wall and slip into the bathroom.

Darcy shut the door before she turned on the light. Sarge seemed fairly stable, all things considered, but she didn’t want to set him off by taking away the pitch black room. It was one of the few things that seemed to give him comfort even if she wasn’t sure why. After emptying her bladder and washing her hands, she ran her tongue over her teeth. They really needed to stop and get some clothes and toiletries if they were in this for the long haul.

 _What the fuck am I thinking,_ she wondered as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was making plans to extend this little road trip with a former assassin who was possibly brain-washed or having a nervous breakdown. Or both. She had a perfectly good job making perfectly good money. And she had hated every minute of it. She’d known she’d made a mistake two days after she had started at the lobbying firm, but she’d been too stubborn and proud to admit it to anyone, including herself.

Talking to Jane in the evenings after work had become her favorite thing to do, but also something that made her heart hurt. Hearing about Jane’s work and all the travel she was doing, Darcy couldn’t help but feel like she was removed from real life now that she’d opted out of that world. She found herself on the sidelines, selling her soul for money and stability. It was depressing and soul-crushing.

And then along came some hot guy with a gun who’d carjacked her and suddenly she was right back in the thick of it. Once she’d realized he wasn’t really going to shoot her, Darcy privately rejoiced at the drama and the change. The _escape_. It felt so good, and even though she hadn’t brushed her teeth in two days, she couldn’t think of going back to the little cube in the sterile glass building in D.C. Fuck that.

After she peed, she turned the light out and stood in the darkness of the bathroom for a few seconds before opening the door. She took two steps with her hands held in front of her at knee-level, searching for the edge of the mattress. Two more steps brought her further into the bedroom, but her fingertips felt nothing but air as she swept her arms from side-to-side. She bent lower, thinking she’d missed it and swept her right hand out until she touched something warm. She wondered at why the bed felt like it had been heated for a fraction of a second. The whir of the man’s metal arm shifting made Darcy realized she’d touched him, not the bed.

With a gasp, she pulled back and lost her balance. Instead of falling back on her ass in the floor at the foot of her bed, she felt a hand grab her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and the pad of his thumb pressed into the center of her palm. He was strong enough to steady her so she didn’t fall.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered in the darkness.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured back.

“I’m sorry for touching you,” Darcy said, trying to pull away. He still had a firm grip on her hand.

She swallowed the anxiety crawling up her throat when he gently stroked his thumb over her palm. “It’s okay, Darcy.”

“You don’t like being touched.”

“It’s easier in the dark,” he whispered, releasing her. She stood there in front of the chair he was seated in, though she couldn’t see anything. She could feel him, though. His presence held weight and power. His left arm hummed and made soft clicks as the plates shifted, which also gave her an idea of his location.

“What’s easier in the dark,” she asked.

“Touching,” he said on a soft exhale.

She took a step backward and felt the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. Darcy sat down and looked at the dark spot where she thought he was sitting. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Are you okay? You almost fell.”

She laughed softly. “I’m fine. It’s dark in here.” Darcy wanted to roll her eyes at her inability to either keep her mouth shut or say something worthwhile if she couldn’t stay quiet. No shit, it’s dark in here, she thought.

“I’ll turn on the light for you.” She could hear him shift in the chair.

“No,” Darcy said, “it’s fine. I’m okay. You don’t have to turn it on for me if this makes you more comfortable.”

“It makes you uncomfortable. Your heart is racing.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to slow her breathing after the intense moment they’d just had. “How can you hear my heart?”

“I can hear a lot of things.”

“Like?”

He shifted. “The way your breathing changes when you wake up.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes at the nothingness. “And, unfortunately, the sound of me peeing?”

“That, too.” If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was smiling.

“Ugh, gross, dude.”

“I can’t help it. Sometimes I wish I could turn it off.”

She reached out to him but pulled back before she could touch his knee. “It’s okay, Sarge. I know you aren’t doing it on purpose. You’ve been nothing but a gentleman since this whole thing started. Well, except for the abducting me at gunpoint thing. But, like, that’s water under the bridge at this point in the game, right?”

“You’re very understanding, doll.”

She smiled. “There’s that old-timey name again, Sarge.”

“It rolls off the tongue sometimes,” he told her in a soft voice. “Why did you reach out to me and then pull back just now?”

“How do you know that when it’s so dark in here?”

“I can see your silhouette, and I heard you move.”

Darcy shifted and said, “I was going to pat your knee to assure you that I’m not mad at you for listening to me pee, but I remembered you don’t like to be touched.”

“I don’t mind right now. With you.” His voice was barely a whisper. She almost didn’t hear it over the hum of the air conditioner.

After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward and swept her hand out until her fingertips brushed against his thigh. It was muscular and warm. “Do you have a fever?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Why?”

“You’re very warm.”

“It’s just how I am,” he whispered when she laid her hand on his knee. “I don’t get cold easily.”

He put his right hand over hers, his palm radiating heat against her skin. She heard him inhale sharply and his fingers curl over the side of her hand. “What’s wrong, Sarge?” she asked as he squeezed with no small amount of pressure.

It was like her voice brought him back into the present and he let up on her hand. “Nothing,” he murmured.

“Come on, now. You can’t keep secrets in the dark.”

He sounded like he was smiling when he said, “The only thing the dark is good for is forgetting and keeping secrets.”

“Sounds like you might be remembering, though.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “I was. Sometimes the memories—the flashes—they hit me hard. Feels like they take my feet out from under me and knock my breath out of my lungs.”

“Would you tell me what you remember?”

“Being in a tank.”

“Like an army tank?”

“No. Smaller. Just the size of a person, like a closet. I… remember looking out a window into a dark room. I remember… I remember lifting up my hand and instead of seeing my fingers, I saw this.” His metal arm clicked as the plates shifted. Darcy could only assume he’d lifted it up. Clearing his throat, he finished by saying, “I remember seeing metal where my hand used to be and being surprised that it moved just like my hand. And then the glass frosted up with ice and… and…”

“And what, Sarge?”

“Nothing. And nothing. It’s like everything just… ended.”

“Were you caught in a snowstorm, maybe?”

“No, not that.”

She thought about his arm and what he’d said about it. “A medical experiment then?”

He sounded very far away when he replied, “A metal table and so much pain. They gave me this; they put it on me.” His arm shifted again, humming and clicking.

Darcy patted his knee before pulling her hand back. She didn’t want to overstay her welcome, so to speak. “You sound surprised. Where did you think you got the fancy left arm?”

“I… never thought about it before.”

“Sounds like these people didn’t want you to think about much besides your missions. It’s good that you’re thinking about things now. It’s good you’re remembering.”

He was silent for a long moment before he said, “Maybe.”

“You should use those index cards I got. They might help you put things into order.”

The lamp beside him flickered when it came on, and Darcy blinked her eyes as her pupils tightened to adjust to the sudden light. He was sitting in the armchair just a foot away. “I haven’t… written in… I don’t know.”

She stood and grabbed the plastic bag off his bed, digging around in the bottom until she pulled out a pack of cards and the pen. “Give it a go. If it doesn’t come back to you, then I’ll write for you while you tell me.”

The man looked at her warily before slipping his gaze down to the cards in her hand.

“Start with the memory you just told me. That can be one card. Just write them down as they come to you. Once you have a bunch, you can try to put them in order.”

He sighed. “I have too many. They’re jumbled. They bleed into one another.”

“Let’s just try,” she said, using her fingernails to tear open the plastic wrap on the cards.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarge was bent over the white notecards with blue lines. He'd filled fourteen of them with memories that had been plaguing him since the fight on the helicarrier. _No_ , he corrected himself. Since the fight on the bridge when he'd first seen Steve. They'd wiped his memory, but he could now see what had happened. He put the pen down and slid the cards around until he found the memory of attacking the man with the shield in the road surrounded by cars. Right after this, he put the card that contained his memory of the metal plates shooting electricity through his head. The third card was the fight in the helicarrier.

“Did you figure something out?” Darcy asked from her spot on the bed. She was leaning back against the headboard and watching the local news.

“Maybe,” he replied, looking down at his spiky, disjointed scrawl.

She smiled at him. “That's great, Sarge.” She shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey, look, if we're in this for the long haul—and by long haul, I mean more than tonight—then we need to stop at a store and get some toothbrushes and clothes. You can't wear those pants and shirt for much longer without washing them.”

He stood up and dropped his hands to his belt buckle. “I'll wash them in the sink,” he told her.

She looked horrified as she stood up and threw both hands out toward him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can't just drop your pants right here.”

“Why?”

“Uh, well… Huh. Good question. I guess because you should be embarrassed to undress in front of a stranger.”

“You're not a stranger, and why should I feel embarrassed?” He looked down at the cards scattered on the tabletop. “I have memories of stripping to be sprayed clean after missions.”

“Dude, that's fucked up. The more you tell me, the more it sounds like they treated you like an animal. I'm glad you escaped.” She flapped her hand in the air until he released his hold on the belt buckle. Darcy gave him a warm smile, and Sarge wanted to smile back, but he wasn't sure he knew how to without looking deranged. “You're a person now. Okay? You just need some extra clothes. We could hit up Target or Walmart tonight before we get on the road,” she told him.

“No, we need to avoid security cameras.”

“CCTV, dude. Closed circuit. Even if the security guys see us, they’ll just think we’re a couple shopping on a—what day is it?—Friday night. It isn’t broadcast and HYDRA can’t access it unless they’ve got people in a department store in the middle of Missouri.”

She had a point, but being captured on camera made him nervous. He’d rather be a ghost that disappeared without a trace than have them cull together the path he took when fleeing.

He must have been frowning because she stuck out her lower lip in a pout. The expression was becoming on her; it made him want to give her whatever she wanted. “I can go in by myself if you don’t want to come,” Darcy said.

Sarge shook his head. “No, I don’t want to risk them finding you.”

She put a hand on her hip. “Afraid I’ll point them in your direction?”

“No, I don’t want them to hurt you, to scare you.”

She smiled and said, “Too late. I’m already scared.”

A feeling of guilt washed over him as he dropped his gaze to the dirty carpet. “I shouldn’t have involved you. You’re innocent.”

When she didn’t reply, he sat down in the chair, his gaze still firmly on the floor because he was afraid to look her in the face.

“Hey,” she said, resting her ass on the edge of the table. She was inches from his arm and he could smell the shampoo she’d used in her hair while he’d been writing down his memories. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

He looked up at her. “What?”

Darcy rolled her eyes and smiled warmly at him. “I used to work for an astrophysicist. A few years back, we were working in New Mexico and saw some wacky readings on her instruments. When we drove out to see what it was, we found, uh… Well, we found Thor.”

“Thor? What’s Thor?”

Her brows raised. “Uh, who’s Thor? Thor the God of Thunder. Blonde beefcake from another universe. Not ringing a bell?”

He shook his head. “Are you talking about in mythology?”

“Hmm, you’ve been out of commission for the past few years, then. He’s not a myth; he’s a person or alien… or god. Or whatever. Kinda like you—super strong, good fighter, saves people. Hot.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I don’t save people,” he said.

Darcy smiled again, “Sure you do. You’ve saved me more than once in the past two days.”

“I took you at gunpoint.”

“Oh, whatever. Semantics, dude. I’m just saying that I have a habit of running into you superhuman types, so I’m not freaking out or anything. I mean, I think I’m handling this situation pretty fucking well.”

“You are,” he agreed. “You’re handling it better than me.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a whole deal going on with the memory. Let me help you. When I say we need clothes, then we need clothes. We also need toothbrushes and snacks. Hey, maybe next time we can stay in a hotel that has the little coffee maker in the room. I know you like coffee.”

He didn’t know how to respond to her. All these things she said they needed—they were luxuries. They weren’t necessary and would only add to their load or slow them down, perhaps even get them caught. Despite knowing that, he _wanted_ those things. He wanted to give in and let her put his life in order.

As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, she said, “Look, I know you don’t need clothes and a toothbrush and coffee, but maybe you need to start learning how to live again. Something tells me that you haven’t lived in a long-ass time.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay?” she asked him with a smile. “Okay, we can go to Target?”

“What’s Target?”

“A store. I’ll ask the front desk where the closest one is. You put the bags in the car, Sarge.”

 

* * *

 

 

He wanted to stay in the car, but he was worried about her safety. If they came for her in the store, then he had no chance of saving her life if he wasn't with her. That didn’t sit well with him at all. Besides, she was bubbly and happy and looking at him with warmth like she could see a human being instead of a mindless monster. It felt good to be looked at in such a way after all these years.

Sarge pulled the sleeve of the shirt down over his left hand as he followed her through the automated doors of the brick building with the red bullseye. She grabbed a wheeled red cart and looked over her shoulder to make sure he was still with her. He kept his head down and didn’t dare glance at the cameras hanging from the ceiling.

“We’ll hurry,” she whispered, taking off to the right and weaving into the racks of clothing. He hung back and watched her quickly search through the racks and tables until she’d found a pair of jeans, a pair of shorts, several shirts, and a zip-up sweater. As they rounded the corner of the store, they entered into the men’s clothing section. “What do you want?” she asked.

He was feeling anxious as he watched the other customers walking past them. The lights were too bright and the music overhead was too loud to properly listen for an ambush. They were too open, no good defensive situation to be found. “What?” he asked, feeling his heartbeat pick up and sweat prickle his forehead and upper lip.

She turned around to look at him and he could see the moment she recognized his anxiety. “Hey,” she whispered, stepping up until she was only a foot away. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m in my element. Everything happening right now is completely normal. I’m going to pick out some clothes for you and then you can go try them on.” She tilted her head and gave him an encouraging smile. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off hers.

“Can you stay here and keep an eye on the aisle that leads to the door? Nothing is behind you but me and clothes. I’ll yell if I hear or see anything.”

Her calm direction made him feel better. “Okay,” he repeated with more conviction.

“Awesome. Give me three minutes.”

He focused on watching the customers wander up the main aisle from the front of the store and around to the side where he could see the electronics department. All of them stayed on the path, none of them ventured off into the carpeted area where the racks of clothing were. This made Sarge feel more at ease. He exhaled a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the scent of new clothing, unwashed fabric straight from the factory. Suddenly he was younger and watching his mother carry a bolt of khaki over to a sales clerk. Her lips were moving as she looked down at him, but he couldn’t hear her. It was as if he were in a vacuum no sound could penetrate. “What? What?” he asked her.

“Sarge. Hey. Hey.” Darcy’s hand was on his left arm, the thin material of the sleeve the only thing between them. He stumbled back a step and adjusted the sleeve over his hand again. “You did your thing again,” she told him. “I didn’t know how to get you back without making a scene. Sorry I touched you.”

“It’s okay. Fine. Do we have everything?” The sweat on the back of his neck was cooling in the air-conditioned air of the store.

“I just need you to try this stuff on really fast to make sure it fits. Come on.”

He followed her over to the wall where an open doorway led to small stalls. A young woman stood guard. Sarge watched as Darcy smiled at the girl and pulled a twenty out of her purse. “My boyfriend is pretty private. Can you let him have the place to himself for five? Dinner on me,” She folded the twenty up and held it between her index and middle fingers.

The girl furrowed her brows and hesitated for a brief moment before taking the twenty. “Uh, sure. Whatever.”

“You’re the best.” Darcy turned to him and handed over a pile of clothes. “Bring back the ones that fit, honey.”

Sarge opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His vision blurred as he heard a woman’s voice say, “Hey, sugar. I’ve seen you watching me all night.”

“What?” he said, looking at Darcy with wild eyes.

“I said you should bring back the ones that fit.” Her eyes shifted to the side where the girl was watching them. “Are you okay, honey?”

He shook his head and winced as the metal arm whirred to life, plates subtly shifting as he unconsciously clenched his fist. “Darcy,” he said, feeling cornered and wild. He needed out. The space was too open.

She plastered a smile on her face as she turned back to the dressing room attendant and pulled another twenty from her purse. “Men,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do you mind if I go back with him and give my opinion? No funny business, I promise.”

The girl gave him a curious look before shrugging her shoulders and taking the money. “Sure, whatever. Just don’t get me fired.”

“Never,” Darcy replied, looking back at him and tilting her head toward the stalls. He followed with the clothes clutched in his arms. She opened the larger stall and went inside before him. Sarge followed her in without a second thought. The space was small and enclosed and easier to defend. Easier to breathe than in the larger store.

“What happened to you back there?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Memories, I think.”

She started taking the clothes off the pile in his arms, arranging them on the small bench along the wall. There was a large mirror to his left, but he was avoiding it. Looking at himself was almost painful. “Take off your shirt,” she told him.

He obeyed without question, pulling the garment over his head and waiting for her to tell him what to do next. Following orders was a relief after the stress of the store.

When she looked up after sorting the clothing into piles, her eyes went wide. “Oh. Whoa, okay. Okay. So, you follow orders well.” Her gaze dropped as she handed him a shirt.

Sarge put it on and looked at her, waiting for the affirmative or negative. It was black and long-sleeved. He hoped all the shirts were so he could hide the monstrosity hanging from his left shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she whispered. “You seem better in here.”

“I'm alone with you.”

She raised her brows. “Okay. And? What's that supposed to mean?”

“That I'm better when we're alone.”

“I'd say that's sweet as hell, Sarge, but… Well, okay. That's sweet.” She pressed a pair of folded jeans to his chest. “Now take off your pants.”

He shoved the jeans under his arm and popped the button on his black pants. A muted squeal came from her mouth as she turned around to face the corner of the cramped dressing room. He left his pants in a pile on the floor while he pulled on the jeans she'd given him. “Too big,” he told her.

She was bent over the pile. “How big?”

He looked down at the waistband. “I don't know.”

She turned around and looked at the way they fit over his hips. “Okay, a little big.” After digging through the clothes again, she pulled out another pair for him to try.

He switched them and said, “Okay.”

She turned around. “Okay, they fit?”

“Yes,” he said.

She had a baseball cap in her hands. With a smile, she hooked it on his head and pulled it down until it rested on his brow line. “There,” she told him. “You look perfect.”

Sarge stood there, staring at her as she watched him. Her gaze no longer made him uncomfortable. In fact, he enjoyed the security of her eyes on him. It meant she was still with him, hadn't left him after all the shit he'd done and said.

Darcy shifted her eyes over to the mirror. “Take a look,” she told him.

“No.”

She frowned. “No?”

“I can't see myself.”

She pursed her lips together. “You know, Sarge. I really wish I could shoot every single asshole who did this to you in the dick.”

“The doctor is dead.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he scrambled for the meaning. “The doctor…” he said again, trying to find the next word in his jumbled mind, but feeling like it was just out of reach, just beyond what he was capable of piecing together.

“The doctor who did this to you?” She had fire in her eyes. “I hope you killed the fucker.”

“Why?” he murmured. “You care, but why?”

She twirled her index finger in a circle. “Do me a favor and look at yourself, Sarge.”

Reluctantly, he turned toward the large mirror and swept his gaze over the edges of his body, taking in his size and shape, but not focusing on the details. “What?” he asked her.

“Look,” Darcy implored. “Look at yourself.”

He focused his eyes on the center of his chest and the thin cotton shirt that covered it. From there, he skipped down his arms and to the faded blue jeans on his legs. “Okay,” he said to her, unsure of what he was supposed to see.

“Come on, Sarge. _Look_.” Her sweet voice and warm breath were just over his shoulder. He swallowed the fear as it struggled to claw its way up his throat and lifted his gaze to his face. He had a few days of stubble on his cheeks, jawline, and chin. His hair was tucked behind his ears and hidden by the ball cap. The empty eyes he usually saw when he looked into a reflective surface were more expressive. Guilt and regret and hurt suffused them until there was no room left for anything else.

“There you are,” she whispered.

Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze to the way the fluorescent light glinted off his metal hand. “I look terrible,” he muttered.

“Nah,” she said, rearranging the clothes again, grabbing pieces she must have thought would fit him. “You're a cutie; you've just been through hell. A few more nights of good sleep and you'll have to beat the women off with a stick.”

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“Kidding,” she said, looking him up and down. “Now take those clothes off and we'll get you some undies and food.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

> _“I need it bad, I need it now. Won’t you come and give me some. I need it sweet, baby please. Won’t you answer the phone.” - The Afghan Whigs (Step Into the Light)_

He was still squirrely even though they’d left the store and were loading the bags of clothes and food into a vehicle he’d stolen away from the scrutiny of security cameras. Darcy wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to a point where she was acting as some pseudo-therapist and he was playing bodyguard, but that appeared to be where they stood now. It was an interesting development after their rocky start that involved a gun to her head.

“I’ll drive; you sleep,” she said, chewing on an energy bar while he did most of the work.

“We need to get out of town. Fast.” He was wearing the baseball cap from the store but declined to change clothes until they were in their next hideout.

She leaned against the driver’s door and watched him put the last bag into the back seat. “They don’t know where we are, Sarge. Maybe they’ve forgotten you and moved on.”

He closed the door and leveled his intense gaze on her. “They haven’t forgotten, trust me.”

Darcy looked up into his eyes. “Okay. I trust you. But I’m driving because you look tired and probably need some sleep.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. “Okay,” he agreed.

She watched as he walked around the back of the SUV and opened the passenger door. Darcy wadded up the wrapper her energy bar had come in and slipped in behind the wheel. “Where to, Sarge?”

When she looked at him, he was bent over one of the white index cards on his thigh. His hand moved quickly, scribbling down what she could only assume was a memory. Instead of interrupting him, she started the vehicle and carefully pulled out into traffic.

Just before she merged onto the highway going west, he sat up and held the card out in front of him. “Memory?” she asked.

“My ma, I think. In a fabric store a long time ago.”

“Fabric store? Did she sew?”

“I think so. I think… Yeah.”

“You think?”

He shifted and she could hear his arm move, clicking into place. “I think I had a sister.”

“Do you remember where you lived? Maybe we could find her or your mom. They might be missing you; they might help jog your memory.” Darcy glanced over at him, but couldn’t make out much in the dark.

He shook his head, and she saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. “No. I don’t think we can do that.”

“Why?”

“I… I think they’re dead.”

She glanced over at him. ” _What?_ Dead how?”

He shook his head. “Just… I don’t know.”

“Were they killed?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Or… no, I don’t think so.” Sarge sighed and said, “I don’t know, Darcy.”

When he fell silent again, she glanced over at him and saw that he was bent over a new card, scribbling another memory. While it might not be a good memory, the fact that he was remembering made her smile. She tried to drive as smooth as possible to make it easier for him to write.

By the time they got into St. Louis and took the highway heading southwest, he’d written on several cards. They were on his right thigh and the one he was currently working on was on his left. He seemed intent on the task, so she kept driving and didn’t say anything. As the sky darkened completely, the traffic started thinning out.

“How’s it going, Sarge?” Darcy asked when he looked up and directed his gaze through the windshield.”

“I remember the War,” he said softly.

“Afghanistan? Do you remember where you were stationed? Maybe we could use that and your number to figure out who you are.”

When she glanced over, she saw him frowning in the beams of the oncoming traffic. “World War Two,” he said.

She chuckled and said, “Yeah, okay. What are you, a hundred years old or something? That was back in the forties.”

“I remember enlisting. I remember… I remember the posters and the musty office where the enlistment officer took down my details. I remember my ma worried I’d die fighting the Nazis.”

Darcy frowned. “Do you think you have someone else’s memories? Can they even do that—implant memories in you?”

He sighed heavily and turned his head to look at the scenery flying by in the passenger window. “I think they’re _my_ memories. I… I’m pretty sure.”

“World War Two was like… like, almost eighty years ago. Are you sure you aren’t getting your memories mixed up with… with movies you’ve seen or something?”

“I can smell the gunpowder and hear… hear the screams,” he whispered, still looking out the window. The stack of cards was clenched in his right hand. “I was there. I know I was there.”

She sighed and said, “Okay. So, what happened?” Darcy didn’t really believe him, but he sounded convinced and she didn’t want to upset him or make him feel like she was dismissing what he thought was truth. “Were you frozen like Captain America?”

Holding up his left hand, he looked at the back of it. She moved her eyes back and forth between him and the road in front of her. His gaze was far away, in some other place and time. “Frozen,” he said.

“Is that what happened, Sarge?”

“I was in a tank and it got cold. Cold so fast.”

He’d said it before, but she’d not really understood what it could mean. Now when he said it, things started clicking into place. “Wait, you said it was a tank the size of a human. Only big enough for you, right?”

“Yes,” he said, looking over at her with haunted eyes.

“Well, could it have been a cryogenic tank? I mean, that’s still new technology, even now, but… I mean, I’m no science nerd like Jane, but what if… That would explain your memories of World War Two. What if you were in cryo for all these years?”

He shook his head and shifted in the seat to look out the passenger window. His body language was shutting her out. Darcy didn’t want to push him, so she let it go and let him have what space he could find in the vehicle as they flew down the road at seventy-five miles an hour.

An hour later, he was still deep in his thoughts and hadn’t said anything. Darcy cleared her throat and said, “Hey, Sarge, I’m hungry. How about burgers from a fast food place so we can keep moving.”

“Burgers,” he said, looking over at her for the first time in a long time.

She smiled at him. “Burgers. Do you remember those?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a strained smile, “I remember those.”

“Fries, too, Sarge?”

“Fries, too.”

It only took two more exits to find a sign that advertised a twenty-four-hour McDonalds. She took the ramp to get off the highway and drove less than a quarter of a mile down the road toward the brick building with the red awning. “It’s not the best, but sometimes it hits the spot,” she told her passenger.

He watched with unconcealed curiosity as she pulled into the drive-thru and ordered a value meal for each of them and an extra burger for him. He looked like he was hungry now that they could smell the unique and not-always-pleasant scent of McDonald's. He tensed up as she pulled around and paid at the window.

“Hey,” she whispered, “it’s okay. We’re okay.”

Sarge’s muscles relaxed slightly as he shifted and settled back into this seat again.

“I don’t like situations like this when it would be difficult to protect you,” he told her, his gaze moving from the parking lot in front of them to the window and then out the back to the car idling behind them.

The sentiment wasn’t lost on her, and Darcy was thankful that if she had a bunch of bad guys after her that she also had an even scarier bodyguard who didn’t seem to have much of a problem taking them out. “Why are you protecting me?” she asked. “You’re the one who took me in the first place.”

“That wasn’t me,” he said. Instead of continuing, he pressed his lips together and looked away. A moment later, the drive-thru worker arrived with their bag of food and two large drinks.

Darcy settled the drinks into the cup holders and handed the food over to Sarge, careful not to touch his hand. “I’m just going to drive over to this lot and park so we can eat.”

Once they were parked in the empty and unlit lot for the business across the street, he handed the bag back to her and said, “That wasn’t me that took you. Not really. I… I need you to understand that.”

She nodded at him. “I do. I think so, at least. I mean, I can’t say I know you. Hell, I don’t even think _you_ really know you at this point, but… you’re different than when we first met in the parking lot of my work. You’re definitely more talkative and the new you—well, I don’t think he’d hold a gun to my head.”

“Doll, I’m so sorry about that.” When he looked down, she could only see the brim of the hat and not his eyes.

“You don’t need to apologize, Sarge. I know you didn’t mean it like that. Really.” She reached into the paper bag and pulled out a burger. After he accepted it from her, she handed him a container of fries and retrieved her own food. Darcy left the third burger wrapped up in the bag and sat it on the dashboard. “That’s for you if you’re still hungry,” she told him, popping a couple fries into her mouth.

“You’re too forgiving.” He carefully unwrapped his burger, and she listened to the shifting plates in his left arm. It was no longer strange or scary, but comforting. “I’m a killer,” he said, looking down at the burger in his hands.

Darcy watched him for a moment before saying, “I think context is important. You know?”

“Context,” he replied. It sounded like he didn’t believe her.

“Sure,” Darcy replied. “They were trying to kill you and me. Of course, you fought back.”

He sat silently just a few inches away, the burger still in his hands and uneaten. “I ain’t just talking about those. I’m talking about who I was before, who I’ve been all these years.”

She didn’t understand what he meant, but it didn’t really matter to her. He was hurting and despite everything, Darcy found that she actually liked him very much. “People can change, Sarge. You can change for better or for worse.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You should eat your food before I do. The fries taste like shit when they get cold.”

“Ain’t had a burger in… a long time.”

“So, have a burger. You’re allowed, you know.”

This time he did smile at her, and his eyes were so warm and the lift at the corners of his mouth so sweet that she wanted to melt. “Doll, I’m not proud I put a gun to your head and got you into this mess, but most of the time I’m really glad I did.”

Darcy grinned as she tried not to actually melt over his sweet words. “Eat your burger and fries before they get cold, Sarge.”

He did as he was told and bit into the burger. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he took another bite and hummed his approval. Darcy looked away for a moment to unwrap her own food. When she looked back over at him, he was shoving multiple fries into his mouth before eating more of the burger.

“Second one is on the dash,” she reminded him, focusing on her own food and trying not to smile too wide over his enjoyment. She imagined this was how it would feel to watch someone who’d been a prisoner for years begin to enjoy the perks of free society again. That probably wasn’t accurate or realistic, but it was rewarding to watch him when he decided to jump back in with both feet.

He polished off both the burgers and the fries before she’d finished half of her food. Without a word, she handed over her remaining fries. “I can’t take yours,” he said.

Darcy shook the container. “Sure you can,” she replied, using her free hand to pick up her drink. He looked down at the second one in the cup holder between them and accepted the fries. Quickly, he ate them and grabbed his cup of soda.

“What is this?” he asked before taking a drink.

“Coke,” she told him.

“Coca-Cola?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Coca-Cola. People don’t really say it like that. It’s just Coke.” Darcy paused as she watched him take a long drink from the straw. “You know,” she said, “when you say things like that and ‘doll’, it makes me think there might be something to what you said about remembering World War Two.”

His eyes were closed and he was still sucking up the soda. When he finally stopped to take a breath, he said, “I remember the Stark Expo. I remember seeing Howard Stark standing next to a car that was supposed to fly.”

“But didn’t,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking over at her. “It didn’t work, but it was still… It was great. I shipped out the next day.”

Darcy chewed on her straw as she thought about what he’d said. She’d seen crazier things like aliens falling from rainbow bridges and monsters from different dimensions. Would it be so crazy that a man from the forties had been frozen and brought back to life to act as an assassin for some secret organization that had infiltrated SHIELD? Captain America had been frozen and he’d been revived. Maybe this guy remembered Cap from his day. The military had paraded their golden boy around quite a bit during the last two years of the war, from what she could remember from her history courses. Then again, maybe the guy had seen some documentaries and them wiping his memory might have jumbled his brain up so that his reality was influenced by other things.

“Sounds like you remember a lot,” she said.

“You don’t believe me.”

She looked over and smiled at him. “I don’t _not_ believe you. I mean, what you’re saying is… it’s pretty wild. But… you have a metal arm that actually works and you’re super strong and… well, I’ve seen crazier stuff.”

“I want you to believe me,” he whispered.

“Why does it matter, Sarge?”

He sucked on his straw until the soda was gone and the hollow sound of him pulling in the dregs at the bottom of the cup could be heard. “Because,” he replied, “I need someone to believe me.”

Darcy tilted her head toward the pockets down the thigh of his black pants where he’d put the cards. “Do the cards with your memories line up? Do you remember much from the forties?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I remember…”

She held her breath, but he didn’t finish the statement. “What do you remember?” Darcy asked.

Sarge pressed his lips together, almost as if he were in pain. “I remember losing my arm and getting this one. I remember a dark cell where I lived. I remember… assassinations.”

“When? How many?”

“So many,” he whispered. “From the fifties to now. I, I couldn’t tell you the years, but I could tell you the names or the faces or both. Those… they’re the easiest thing to remember and they’re the worst, too.”

“Do you remember your name? How you were captured?”

“I… I think I fell. It broke my arm.” He glanced over his shoulder between the two seats. “We should go, Darcy.”

She put the car into drive and said, “What about your name? I don’t mind calling you Sarge, but it’d be pretty nice to know if you’re a Bob or a Reginald.”

“I don’t– I don’t know. I…”

“Hey,” she said, pulling into traffic to get on the entrance ramp for the interstate, “don’t sweat it, Sarge. Your name isn’t all that important if you’re remembering who you are and what happened to you.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning to look out the window. “I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

She was asleep in the bed, and he was sitting in the dark. This time she’d talked him into staying at a nicer place. Their room was on the fifth floor, and this made him nervous. He could easily break and jump out of a window to escape, but she couldn't. Her safety was more important, so he’d checked the exits—two stairwells on opposite sides of the floor and an elevator that wouldn’t aid much in an escape.

There was a small coffee maker on the desk, and she’d made him a cup before crawling into the bed just as the sun was rising. He’d pulled the curtains closed and sat in the dark with his coffee, thinking of nothing but her at first. Her bare leg protruding from the sheet on her bed, the way she tucked her dark hair behind her ears, the way her lips parted when she was thinking about something he’d said, the kindness she’d shown him.

The coffee was tolerable, but he really wanted another cup filled with Coca-Cola. It reminded him of the soda shop three blocks down from his place in Brooklyn. Sarge closed his eyes, but nothing changed; it was all still just blackness. _Brooklyn_. His place in Brooklyn. He’d have to remember that when she woke and he turned the light on. He’d have to write it down on one of the white cards she’d given him. He had dozens of them filled with his messy handwriting, and he was feeling more confident now that he would be able to put them in some sort of order.

After the moment with her in the cramped dressing room, his memories were coming faster, but not hitting quite as hard as they had when he’d felt lost and held her at gunpoint. It was as if there was a block in his brain and changing his clothing had helped clear it. She’d handed him the cup of coffee after he’d insisted on keeping watch, and then she’d fallen asleep not more than six feet from where he was sitting beside the small desk.

“Sergeant. Three, two, five, five, seven,” he said under his breath, exhaling the words more than saying them. “Sergeant. Sergeant.”

Who was he? He was a Sergeant. He was in the service. He was a killer. He was a defector from a cause he’d served for decades. _Decades_ , he thought. How was it possible? When he opened his eyes, the room was still so dark he could barely see anything at all, just a vague warmth over by the window. “Sergeant,” he whispered. When he closed his eyes again, he saw the inside of a train car packed with supplies. He felt the rumble of the wheels on the track below and the anxiety building in his chest as he shifted behind a stack of boxes when the pop of a gun sounded in front of him.

While the memories over the past few hours had been choppy and inconsequential, this one hit him hard and fast, ripping the breath from his lungs. He could remember it all in startling clarity—the mission, the train, Steve’s unerring determination, the blast that sent him careening out a hole in the side of the car, hanging from the train with one hand.

“Oh, god,” he muttered, bending over to put his head between his knees as an intense wave of nausea hit him. He'd fallen from the train and lost consciousness. There was a card sitting on the desk that had a description of what he'd seen when he’d come to in the bank of snow. There was another card that contained the details of the medical procedures that happened shortly afterward. That card was filled with cramped writing from edge to edge, front and back.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispered. “Sergeant James Barnes.” He sat up and ran a hand roughly through his tangled hair. He'd grown up with Steve. He'd tried to kill Steve only days before. He'd almost succeeded in ending the life of his best friend because he was weak-willed enough to be turned into a mindless monster. He'd become HYDRA’s gun to point and shoot, nothing but a weapon.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head. The floodgates had opened and now there was no shutting them, no stopping the deluge of memories, both before and after that pivotal moment when he'd, for all intents and purposes, died.

He focused on the warm glow of sunlight around the edges of the thick curtains as he thought back to the war, to being captured, to the shock of seeing Steve look so much like himself and yet so different when Steve had broken into the warehouse and saved him from the neverending medical experiments. He tumbled even further back to the night before he was shipped out, before the merciless jaws of fate clamped down on his neck, when he was almost carefree and excited for life and the action in Europe.

Bucky pulled in a ragged breath of air as he felt that sensation of falling again. He was falling and it never stopped; it went on for miles and miles, unending. There was something worse than death at the bottom, but he hadn’t known it when his fingers slipped and he fell from the train. He’d heard Steve call for him and in the eternity that it took to hit the ground, he had time to consider his death and hope it would be on impact.

It wasn’t on impact, and Bucky felt overwhelming guilt for that. Why hadn’t he just _died_? Why couldn’t it all have ended then, before he was twisted and perverted into the monster he was now? He was a monster so removed from himself that he hadn’t even remembered his name until that moment.

He gripped the arms of the chair as he recalled the beginning of his time as HYDRA’s assassin. He remembered cold concrete and steel bars that contained him. The pitch black and windowless cell was his only reprieve in those first few months of conditioning. They’d used noxious gases that knocked him out and injections of drugs that gave him hallucinations or warped reality so his timelines were uncertain and fuzzy. The electric shocks that offered nothing but searing pain were the worst and—when they finally escalated to unconsciousness—also offered blessed relief second only to the darkness of his solitary and windowless cell.

His lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. What was he trying to say? “Longing, rusted, seven–” Bucky cut himself off, stifling the breathy whispers that spoke evil words. The words felt like so long ago, and yet also like they were part of his life only yesterday. He tried to wipe them from his consciousness as he slid his trembling right hand across the desk until the tip of his middle finger bumped against the paper coffee cup. Frantic thoughts of what would happen if he thought the words in sequence skittered through his mind. Would the programming that had brought him to this point awaken in the depths of his subconscious? Would he lose himself? He’d only just found himself in the darkness of the hotel room.

Bucky could hear her even breaths, but he couldn’t see her body. The steady inhale and exhale were like the ticking of a clock and allowed him to focus on something other than the words. He wrapped his fingers around the coffee cup and brought it to his lips, taking a long sip of the lukewarm, bitter liquid while he focused on her breathing. His chest flushed with heat when he thought of her and the way she’d been nothing but gracious and understanding and trusting. He deserved none of that. He’d abducted her at gunpoint. He’d put her in danger, destroyed her life. She couldn’t go back to her office job and her friends when HYDRA knew who she was and that she’d been in contact with him.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. Bucky’s head dropped down in shame and regret as he considered how he’d used her, how he was still fucking up lives even without orders from HYDRA. His throat was closing up like a hand was wrapped around it, squeezing his windpipe like a vice. His grip on the coffee cup slackened and it fell in the floor, whatever was left inside spilling on the carpet. “Oh, god…” he whispered rocking forward as more memories washed over him like waves that wouldn’t relent. They just came faster and hit harder the more he struggled.

“Sarge?”

Darcy’s voice cut through the noise and he froze.

She shifted in the bed. “Are you okay?”

Bucky swallowed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

More shifting could be heard as she sat up and leaned forward. He only knew this because her soft, velvety voice fresh from sleep was closer now. “Hey. Sarge? Are you okay?”

Shaking his head, he finally managed to sit back in the armchair and said, “I remembered.”

She moved again but didn’t come any closer. “Yeah?” Darcy whispered. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s bad,” he said before he swallowed.

“It’s the past.” He heard her pat the mattress as she said, “Come sit down and tell me what you remember.”

“Doll, I…”

“Come on, Sarge.” She paused then said, “Did you remember your name?”

“Yes.”

“What do I call you then?”

His heart was racing, but he wasn’t sure why. The moment felt so important, but it was nothing consequential in the grand scheme of things. Telling this woman his name wouldn’t change what had happened or make anything better. “Bucky,” he said.

“Bucky,” she repeated. He could hear her smiling when she said, “That’s a strange name, but okay. Come sit down and tell me about it, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the first third of the fic, folks! Tomorrow we'll discover what Bucky has to say to Darcy about his memories and what she thinks of his revelation. Buckle your angst seat belts. Thank you to all you kind souls who have left me comments or sent me messages. I adore you all.


	8. Chapter 8

 

> _“But the monsters turned out to be just trees and when the sun came up, you were looking at me.” - Ryan Adams (Out of the Woods)_

Darcy couldn’t see him or anything else in the dark, but she could feel him and could hear his voice. He sounded hurt, more broken than she’d heard him since they’d met. She pushed herself up the rest of the way until she was seated, her legs folded beneath her. When he didn’t move, she said, “You know what’s funny? I think one of the Howling Commandos who served with Captain America went by Bucky.”

He exhaled a sharp breath and she could hear the plates in his arm clicking as they shifted to accommodate his movement.

“Sarge?” she said into the darkness. “Bucky?” He didn’t reply or move. There was something important that she wasn’t picking up on. What had happened? “Bucky?” she said again.

“It’s bad,” he whispered.

Sargeant. Bucky. She opened her mouth but didn’t say anything because the pieces were still falling into place in her mind. “Wait,” she whispered, leaning forward. “His name was James Barnes. It’s been years since I’ve looked at a history book, but… his name was James Barnes and they called him Bucky and he was….” Darcy huffed out a sharp breath. “He was Steve Rogers’ best friend. Oh my… god. Wait, are you… How is that possible? He _died_.”

She heard him stand up and felt the faint movement of the air he displaced. “I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to…”

Darcy swallowed and said, “Okay. It’s okay. Just… Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you can remember?”

“I’m making you nervous. I’m scaring you,” he whispered.

“No, no, no. You’re not doing that. I’m… I don’t know what I am. I’m confused. Are you sure you aren’t remembering wrong? Did you read a book about Bucky Barnes and now you’re inserting–”

“No,” he told her firmly. “That’s not what this is. I can explain that. I think.”

“I’m not afraid of you. Come here and tell me what you remembered.” When he didn’t move, she said, “I’ll stay on this side of the bed. Just sit on the edge.”

“It’s not that, doll. I don’t mind…” He trailed off and sighed. “I don’t mind.”

She wasn’t exactly sure of what he meant by that, but she didn’t think asking would help either of them. “So, come here.”

He moved, but she wasn’t sure which direction until she felt the bed dip.

“You haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours,” Darcy said, looking in his direction, but not seeing anything.

“So?”

“So, that’s not good. You should be rested. There’s no reason for you not to be. Lie back and tell me what you remembered and then I’ll keep watch while you sleep.” When she moved to get up, his hand shot out and touched her arm. Darcy stopped moving and said, “I was just giving you this bed. I’ll sit in the chair and listen.”

“Stay,” he whispered. “I don’t mind. I don’t mind.”

“Mind what? Being close to me? You’ve told me not to touch you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, Darcy. It’s okay in the dark.”

She relaxed and sat back down on the mattress. “Why?”

He laughed, but it was broken and sad without any humor. “I’m fucked up. Please don’t leave me.”

His request broke her heart. Darcy shifted until she could lie down on her side, her back against the wall. “Lie down… Bucky. I’m not leaving.”

The bed was still for several seconds in which Darcy didn’t even dare to breathe. Finally, he moved and the mattress shifted in such a way that she knew he was lying down beside her. “I don’t deserve the way you treat me,” he whispered into the space between them. He was probably also on his side, mirroring her.

“Tell me what you remembered.”

“I don’t know how or where to begin.”

She reached a hand out and felt her fingertips hit the fabric of his shirt. “Tell me who you are,” she whispered.

His left hand—the intimidating metal one—gently took hold of her hand and guided her until her palm was cupping his jawline. It was rough with stubble and his skin was warm. “Don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not… It’s all different now.”

“Are you James Barnes? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how you look like you’re in your twenties when you should be close to a hundred.”

“Cryo.” He chuckled, but there was despair in it. “Just like you said.”

“Why freeze you? How did you even… I thought Bucky Barnes died.”

“I fell from a moving train on a mission. We were on a cliff and it was a long fall. The fall knocked me out, and when I came to... “ He trailed off and she felt his jaw move like he was trying to say something, but didn’t have words. “When I came to I was surrounded by men and, and Zola.”

“Arnim Zola? The Nazi doctor who experimented on people?”

“Mmm,” he agreed. “I was in so much pain. And then I don’t remember anything until I was on a metal operating table and they were attaching this.” Bucky lifted his left arm and grazed the fingertips of the stubby, metal fingers against her arm.

She ran her thumb over his cheekbone. “Keep going.”

“They put me in a cell in the dark. I couldn’t see anything, but I was in so much pain. They fed me through the bars of the cell, but I don’t remember how long. I… I could only see when they came, but nothing after because there weren’t windows.”

“And then they put you in cryo?”

He huffed out a sharp breath that she felt on her face. “No. If only. They gassed me and took me into a lab while I was unconscious. They tied me down and injected me with… I don’t know what. They put metal plates on my head and shocked me until I passed out.”

“Jesus, dude,” Darcy muttered, feeling sick to her stomach at his story.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Oh, shut up, dude. That’s insane.”

“They made me into a killer. They got rid of me and they… they made me kill people.”

“When? In the forties?”

His jaw tightened underneath her hand. “I don’t know. It’s all… jumbled. I remember the ones I killed, but not when. Not the order, not anymore. They put me in the tank so many times.”

Darcy’s chest was tight and when she rubbed her thumb across his cheek again, she felt wetness. He was crying and that made her want to cry, too. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath to rein in her emotions. “Okay, so… you nearly died on the mission toward the end of the war. They outfitted you with the arm and fucked up your head so you’d follow orders like a robot. Then they have you do their dirty work, but throw you in cryo when they don’t need you.” She paused and when he didn’t respond, she said, “Is that right?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Why shouldn’t I feel sorry for you?”

“I… I’m a killer.”

“So what? You weren’t driving; they were. Look, maybe my opinion is skewed, but you saved my ass and you weren’t even in full control then.”

“I’m not in full control now.”

Darcy chuckled softly and rubbed his cheek again. “You’re just proving my point. You’re just now finding yourself and you’re already doing the right thing.”

“I pointed a gun at you.”

“And then you saved me. You got _shot_ saving me.”

“It was instinct,” he whispered, laying his metal hand on the back of hers and pressing her palm more fully against his cheek.

“Exactly,” Darcy told him. “You’re making my point again. Your instinct is yours, not theirs. Who are _they_ , anyway? Who is HYDRA?”

He was quiet for a moment before saying, “Honestly? I’m not sure. They want control and power and…” Bucky sighed. “I didn’t question; I followed orders. I… I followed orders and killed to further their cause… I... “

“Hey,” she said swiping her thumb over his cheekbone again. “Don’t. You just told me they jumbled your brain.”

“I should have tried harder. I should have died.”

Darcy mentally reeled back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t talk like that. What the hell do you mean, you should have died?”

“It would have been better if I’d died in the fall. I _should_ have died.”

“But you didn’t and that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, doll, that’s a terrible thing. I’m a terrible person now.” His breath was shaky when he exhaled. “I don’t even know if I count as a person anymore.”

Moving a little closer, she said, “You’re a person. I’m an expert on people. I can spot ‘em from a mile away.”

This made him chuckle quietly and move his hand down so he could encircle her wrist with his fingers. “You wouldn’t trust me if you knew,” he whispered.

“I do know. They brainwashed you into doing their bidding. You assassinated people for them until seeing your best friend broke their hold. Right? All things considered, not the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. I mean, okay, the thing about your best friend being Captain America and you being a war hero from the forties… well, that’s actually pretty crazy.” She paused before adding, “But not in a bad way.”

“I’ve killed over two hundred people. You’ve seen me kill.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you kill to protect yourself and me. No shame in that game, dude.”

“I’ve killed innocent people. I crushed Maria Stark’s throat with my own hand.”

This revelation made Darcy pull away and prop herself up on her elbow. “She died in a car accident.”

“It was arranged to look that way. I killed them both. She struggled, but I did it anyway. I killed her and she did nothing wrong.”

Bucky moved to sit up, but she reached out and put a hand on his chest. “But it wasn’t you.”

“It was. It was my hands.”

“Look, I’m no expert on brainwashing, but I’m pretty sure you’re not to blame for this one. Maybe you were the gun, but someone else pulled your trigger. That person is to blame. Or, if we’re talking war, then maybe it was the person who gave the order that got passed down the line to you. All of those assholes are more accountable than you in my book. They knew what they were doing. You were just manipulated into it. I mean, did you make a choice?”

“I made a choice to follow the order.”

She tapped his chest. “Did you really? Did you ever disobey?”

It was a very long moment before he answered with, “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I was a killing machine,” he said, voice a bit louder.

“Goddamn, you’re good at making my points for me, Bucky Barnes.”

He rolled over on his back and her hand fell away from his chest. “I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“Do what?”

“This. All this. I can’t make it right. What am I supposed to do with myself?”

She sat up and said, “We’ll figure it out.”

“We’ll?”

“Yeah. You and me. But right now I think you’re tired and should sleep. It looks like it might still be light out. Do you have time to sleep?”

“It’s just after two in the afternoon,” he said without moving.

Darcy carefully slipped out of the bed and stood up. “Sleep for a few hours, Bucky. I’ll keep watch. I can’t fight, but I can scream loud enough to wake you and someone three rooms over. Maybe things will feel a little better when you wake up.”

“I don’t think so, Darcy. If you’re going to leave while I’m asleep, you can tell me. I won’t blame you… or stop you. Just be careful out there.”

His comment made her heart ache. “I’m not leaving, Bucky. I’ll be right here when you wake up. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky pressed his palm against the tile of the shower wall as he bent his head and closed his eyes. The hot water flowed over the back of his head and dripped from the ends of his hair. This time he'd used shampoo and soap as he washed himself. She'd left them there on the shelf in the shower stall.

She'd also kept watch while he'd slept over six hours. He'd found her sitting by the window, using the light revealed from the slightly askew curtain to read one of the magazines the hotel had left on the desk.

When she'd noticed he was awake, she'd just smiled and told him she was going to shower and he could have it afterward. Bucky had tried not to think about her in the stall. He still tried not to think about her even as he stood in the spot she'd been in only minutes before.

When he finally drummed up the courage to turn the water off and face her in the light of day, he found that she'd neatly folded clothes for him on top of a fluffy towel. The pile was sitting on the closed toilet seat. He dried himself quickly, not lingering on his body that was so foreign and strange. His hands had done things—terrible things—he clearly remembered, but had no recollection of choosing to do.

Bucky pulled on the underwear and jeans before slipping the long-sleeve shirt on to hide his arm and the ugly scars that told the story of how he received it. A cursory glance in the mirror showed him a haunted man with distance in his eyes. This is who you are now, he told himself.

“Hey,” she said when he opened the bathroom door. The lamp by the desk was on, but she'd left the curtains closed. Opening them wouldn't do much good now that it was dark outside. “How are you feeling?”

“I don't know,” he said, giving her the most honest answer he could.

She flashed him a kind smile and picked his baseball cap up off the desk. “Where to, Bucky?”

Hearing her say his name was bittersweet. He wanted to go back to being Bucky, but that person seemed so far removed from him now. The gaping chasm between him and who he wanted to be seemed as wide as the Atlantic. “I don't know. I think maybe you should go to see Steve. Tell him you got on the wrong side of HYDRA. He'd keep you safe,” he told her.

It was the plan he'd formulated in the shower. Thinking of not having her next to him made Bucky’s chest feel tight and his breath short, but he knew they'd just chase their tails and spend all her money if they didn't do something other than run.

“Why don't we _both_ go to Steve? He has to know who you are. He'd understand about your situation,” she said, handing the ball cap to him.

“No,” Bucky told her. “It's best I disappear.”

She frowned. “I don't see how that's best. He was your friend. Don't you think you owe it to him?”

“I owe a lot to so many people, including you, doll. And I got nothing to give. Like I said, it's best I just disappear.”

“I'm not going to Steve without you.”

Despair and relief were both coursing through his blood, cold and hot at war inside him. “I can't do anything but run, Darcy.”

“You can pick the direction you run in.” She stood up and started putting their belongings into her black duffle bag.

He watched her move around the hotel room, packing their things in the one bag like it was nothing, like they were a unit and it had never occurred to her to keep them separate. He’d taken her from the parking lot at gunpoint against her will and she was refusing to leave him. Who was she and why was she taking all this in stride like it wasn’t different than every other day? “Your friends are probably worried about you, Darcy.”

“Yeah?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. “I bet your friend is worried about you, too. He had to have recognized you.”

Bucky tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but couldn’t seem to clear his airway enough to get a fulfilling breath. Turning away from her, he closed his eyes as the memory of slamming his fist into Steve’s face hit him hard and fast. The helicarrier was on its way to the ground and Steve wasn’t even fighting any longer. In fact, he’d told Bucky he refused to fight him. “Punk,” Bucky muttered, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes.

“What did you say?” Darcy asked as she zipped up the duffle.

“Nothing,” he muttered. He’d punched Steve again and again and again, but the punk hadn’t fought back. _Why_? He’d been gone. He’d been long gone and only cared about killing at that point. Surely Steve had seen the truth of it in his eyes. Why hadn’t he fought back? Why hadn’t he just ended Bucky’s misery right then and there? Steve should have put him down. He could have. The only reason it was Bucky pulling Steve out of the water and not the other way around was because that punk had refused to lift a hand at the end.

“Bucky,” she said. He didn’t turn around, so she continued with, “Do I call you Bucky or James or what?”

“Bucky,” he replied. Every time she said his name, he felt a strange mixture of emotions, but the one he wanted to hold onto—the one he wanted to last—was a feeling of nostalgia mixed up with hopefulness.

“Why don’t you want to go see Steve?”

He turned around. She really was beautiful, but he tried not to pay attention to that because it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and her cheeks were flushed. His eyes lingered on her lips as he tried not to look at her chest in the T-shirt she was wearing. “Because I’ll be nothing but trouble for him. He has responsibilities to this country and I just tried to help overthrow the government.”

She rolled her eyes at him. _Rolled_ her fucking eyes at him like this was a time to be flippant. “He’s not under contract or anything. I think your buddy considers his commitment to be to the entire world, not just the United States. Plus, _that wasn’t you_. Look, we’ve only known each other for three or four days, but the guy who carjacked my ass isn’t the guy standing in front of me right now. And I suspect the guy who tried to assist in overthrowing the government was even more different.”

“I still did it.”

Another eye roll. “You’re stubborn as hell and blind, Bucky Barnes. Did your friend Steve call you an ass like you called him a punk?”

Her question knocked him back on his proverbial heels. “No, he called me a jerk.”

Darcy threw her head back and laughed at his confession. He didn’t laugh with her, but he did realize that the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile as he watched her shake her head at him. “Come on, Bucky,” she said. “I think he’d want to see you. I think the case can be made that you were not in control of yourself at the time.”

“No.”

“You’re being unreasonable. We’re on the run and he could help us.”

“He could help _you_.”

She sat down on the foot of the bed and looked up at him through her lashes. “What happened during the fight? Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me not to make him fight me.”

“See,” she said, “he remembers you. He’d want to help you. I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s, like, the nicest guy around. I don’t actually know him, but I know a really nice guy who does. And that guy claims that Steve Rogers is the bee’s knees.”

“Who do you know?”

“Thor. God of Thunder, remember? He’s getting it on with my former boss.” She stood up, wringing her hands together. “Look, I can call Jane and she can get a message to Thor. He could get a message to Captain America to meet us somewhere.”

Bucky shook his head. “No.”

Darcy had her hands on her hips now, the nervousness at her suggestion switching to a suffering resignation with the tinge of attitude she sometimes gave him. The sass she threw out when he questioned her or tried to order her around, especially when they’d first met, made Bucky like her even more. “Okay, fine. You need some more time to come to terms with this. I got it. Where to? There’s this little diner in Puente Antiguo that has amazing chile fries. Not, like, hot dog chili because that shit is gross, but like green chiles all roasted and pureed into this amazing sauce that gives you more flavor than you’re prepared for.”

He looked at her and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Doll, I think you might be a little crazy.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Because I want to hang out with you?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Like I said, you saved me from a life of nine to five in a cube working for a lobbying firm that was trying to make sure our government becomes even more corrupt than it already is. I should be thanking you for shaking shit up.”

He pulled the baseball cap over his head and twisted it until it felt comfortable. “You should be running from me, doll.”

“Hey, like I said, you saved me from a boring job and then you saved me from some scary guys. Plus, I like road trips, jerk.”

“I’m a jerk now?”

She smiled. “You are when you’re acting like one. Stop trying to offload me. I’m right where I want to be.”

Her offhand comment made his heart thud a little bit harder in his chest. She was right where she wanted to be. What did that even mean?


	9. Chapter 9

 

> _“We’re just like magnets, baby, hypnotized. Even addicted to your grumpy face. I know exactly how many kisses fit between your eyes.” - Banks (Fuck ‘Em Only We Know)_

Driving gave him something to focus on besides his addled brain and all the jumbled memories ping-ponging around in his head. Focus was important. Without it he felt unmoored and at risk of losing himself in the mess of his mind. He turned his attention to safe things like the speed of the car and perfecting the skill of passing other vehicles without tapping the brake and turning off the cruise control that she’d shown him how to use. He watched the line of yellow dashes disappear behind them as the car moved further south and west. The land quickly flattened out, going from hills and valleys to fields that went on and on until they hit the horizon. The moon was full and he could see so far, even in the dark.

She’d made him stop and get something to eat an hour before. She’d even made him get an ice cream cone, though he’d argued against it because it provided no nutritional value and would only consume time and resources. It wasn’t until after he’d made the remark and she’d stared back at him, blinking twice instead of responding that he’d realized he’d been slipping back into the persona that he’d been living as for all these decades. Bucky would have gotten ice cream. The Asset would have kept moving.

So, they had bought ice cream at the burger joint that was open late. He’d loved the sweet creamy flavor and the crisp edges of the cone. He’d also enjoyed watching her finish hers after he’d devoured his. She’d made little moans of pleasure as she swiped her pink tongue over the vanilla soft serve. Bucky swallowed and tried to ignore her, but she was a very hard person to ignore. Her presence held weight and consequence. And, most importantly, she liked and seemed to want to help him. It was a very strange feeling to know this after existing for years as a tool that was only cared for to be used another day. They’d fed him and patched up any wounds only because they needed him for the next mission.

“How much do you remember?” she asked, breaking the hour of silence since they’d gotten back on the highway.

“What do you mean?”

“Like fifty percent? Seventy? Ninety-nine?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. I… Most of it feels out of order. It feels like too many years… to... to… to hold in my head at once.” Frowning at his inability to properly express it, he said, “Does that even make sense?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her tilt her head back against the headrest. “Sure. It makes perfect sense. I mean, I’ve only lived twenty-six years and I can’t keep all that in my head. And, to be completely honest, most of those years involved watching Netflix, pulling boring all-nighters in the library at Culver, and listening to my dad never shut up about the skill involved in taking pictures of birds in flight.”

He had almost no idea what she was talking about, which made him realize that this woman who had helped guide him back to some semblance of himself was mostly a mystery to him. That familiar feeling of guilt washed over him. “What is Netflix?”

She rolled her head to look over at him, and he could see her smile out of the corner of his eye. “A service that lets you watch movies and television shows on-demand. You turn it on, tell it what you want to watch, and it plays it for you.”

“Had to go to the pictures to see that in my day.”

“Yeah, well, you look good for pushing a hundred, Sarge.”

“Bucky,” he told her. “Please.”

Her smile fell. “Bucky,” she said, correcting herself. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, running his left hand over the top of the wheel. “I’m just… It helps when you say it. It reminds me.”

Her smile was back and when he glanced over at her in the flickering glow of the lights above the road, she was heart-stoppingly beautiful. “I got ya, Bucky Barnes. And I’ll keep reminding you.”

Feeling a little flustered at all the warmth radiating from her smile and her blue eyes, he focused on the road again. “Where's Culver?”

“What?”

“Culver. You said something about the library at Culver.”

This made her chuckle. “Oh. That. It’s a school in Virginia. I went there years ago before my life got hijacked by an astrophysicist and her hunky boyfriend.”

“Your life get hijacked a lot?”

“This is just the second time. And, let me tell you, the hijacking was pretty welcome both times around even if I sometimes complain.”

“And your dad? The birds?”

“Oh, god,” Darcy said, putting a hand over her eyes. “The damn birds. My dad is an insurance adjuster who moonlights as a photographer. Except, he won’t actually take any paying gigs because he says photographing people is, quote, _too easy_. He only wants to take pictures of birds.” When she looked over at him, Bucky glanced in her direction. “He has this ghillie suit—you know, the full body thing that looks like you’re wearing moss–”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed.

“Well, he has this ghillie suit that he wears out in public like he doesn’t look like an absolute lunatic walking down the street in their neighborhood and going into the woods with his camera. I was, like, fifteen or sixteen when he first got it. The neighbors called the cops on him because they thought he was going to shoot someone.”

Bucky smiled back at her as he glanced between the road and her face. “Why birds?”

“Don’t know. He just has this obsession with them. It’s, like, his mission in life to get pictures of them in flight. I think it all started when I was thirteen. We went to the beach. He's from Kansas, so he’d never been before. And he saw all these birds just gliding over the water and he was…” Darcy chuckled. “He was captivated.”

“So, he bought a camera and took up the hobby?” Bucky asked.

She sighed. “Not right away. He didn’t until my mom died a year later.”

His heart twisted for her. “I’m… I’m…”

She smiled again. “Don’t be sorry, Bucky. Wasn’t your fault. Cervical cancer is a bitch. They found it late and she went fast. I remember some things really clearly and other things are just a blur.”

“What do you remember clearly?” he asked.

“The hospital bed and the thick plastic mugs that are brown—the ones they served pretty much all the drinks and soups in. This is probably going to sound weird, but I remember the air conditioning vent underneath her hospital room window. I’d stand next to it and put my face down in the cold air that it was blowing out and pretend I was flying.” Darcy laughed. “I was a strange kid.”

“That’s not weird,’ he told her.

Shrugging, she said, “It was hard for me to look at her sometimes. She lost a lot of weight fast. She didn’t really look like my mom toward the end, and that bothered me.” After a few moments of silence, she added, “I wish I could go back and redo it sometimes. For her. I mean, I could have handled that better instead of just avoiding it. You know? Just go back and… do things a little different to make it easier on her or my dad.”

Bucky swallowed the emotion crawling up his throat. He felt like an open wound and sometimes she would unknowingly touch a nerve. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I know.”

She rolled her head over again to look at his profile. The weight of her gaze was considerable. “It’s different, you know. What I was talking about and what you’re thinking about.”

“What?” he asked, glancing over in bewilderment. How did she know what he was thinking?

“You’re over there thinking about all those regrets you have over shit you did when you weren't even you. You’re not being fair to yourself.”

“You were… what… fourteen? You didn’t know then what you know now. What makes you think you’d be able to do it any different back then? Maybe it ain’t so different.”

She shifted in the seat and sighed before tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, Bucky.”

“I’m sorry your mom died, doll.”

“Ain’t no thing, Bucky. Don’t apologize.” She sighed and then said, “What about your sister? What if she’s still alive?”

“What?”

She turned slightly to face him. “Early on you told me that you thought you had a sister and that you thought she was dead. Do you remember her dying or did you just assume? I mean, if it was a younger sister, then there’s a chance she’s still alive. Wouldn’t you want to–”

“No,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “No.”

“But–”

“No. Even if she’s alive, it’s better for her to think I died in the war than to know what happened.”

Darcy didn’t say anything right away. Finally, she said, “Okay. I see what you’re saying. She’d probably be upset that you went through what you went through.”

“And that I’m a murderer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bucky,” she muttered.

He gripped the steering wheel tight and said, “You got a mouth on you.”

“You bet I do.”

This made him smile. “Don’t think I don’t like it,” he said softly.

She smiled back and shook her head. “I didn’t think that at all.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t the Ritz Carlton, but they couldn’t really afford to splurge. It was, however, a Hampton Inn, a decent and reasonably-priced hotel that had cable and clean sheets and no bugs lying dead along the baseboards. Hiding out in squalor was okay when you were seriously fearing for your life, but when you felt pretty sure that the assholes who had tried to kill you didn’t know where you were then a little comfort was called for.

Bucky was out in the hallway looking at the exits. He was weird about that sort of thing and did the same routine every time they changed locations. Darcy was thankful and all, but she really didn’t understand how knowing the number of steps between their door and the stairwells would help them get out. Better safe than sorry, she supposed.

She turned on the television and flipped through the channels. The news coverage of what had happened in D.C. was still happening, but mostly it was a lot of speculation and conspiracy theories juxtaposed with the official release from the White House, claiming that a terrorist group had infiltrated SHIELD and destroyed the helicarriers. It was a slight fib since the helicarriers were destroyed by Captain America, but they needed to spin things, she supposed. The information that had been leaked had dirt on almost everyone in any position in power, so there was a fair amount of ass-covering and back-pedaling going on, too. She changed the channel away from the talking heads.

Captain America in his full suit flashed onto the screen as the narrator read some line about the heroics of America’s and liberty’s greatest defender and his team the Howling Commandos. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door opened and Bucky stepped inside. Darcy stood and moved in front of the television, the remote clutched in her hand. “Uh, I think you might be on TV,” she told him. “Are you ready for that?”

“What?” he asked, leaning to the left to look around her.

“There’s a program on TV about the Howling Commandos. I don’t want it to freak you out.”

“Why?” He looked so confused and she wasn’t sure what he was asking.

“Why don’t I want you to freak out?”

He shook his head. “Why is there a program on about us?”

“Uh, because you’re war heroes.” She glanced over her shoulder at the screen to see black and white pictures of a battlefield. “Do you want to watch it? Do you think it will help?”

His eyebrows furrowed as they drew together. “I don’t understand.”

Darcy stepped away from the television and watched his face as he took in the picture. “That’s Steve,” he said dumbly. “What’s… what’s he doing on television?”

She turned the sound up and hit the light switch by the door so the room was only illuminated by the television screen. He seemed to prefer the dark, so that’s what she’d give him. “Here,” she said, patting the foot of the bed closest to him. “Sit down and watch. If you decide it’s too much, then we’ll turn it off.”

As if in a daze and unable to tear his gaze from the screen, he did what she said and settled down on the foot of the bed. “What _is_ this?” he whispered to her as the narrator went through the story of Erskine and the development of his serum before zooming the camera in on a couple old pictures of Steve Rogers, one of which showed him standing by a vehicle on a military base.

“It’s a documentary,” she whispered, sitting down on the foot of the other bed. “He really was small before the serum,” she said.

“He didn’t act it,” Bucky told her, his eyes still on the television. “He always stood up for himself and everyone else even though the guys he stood up to were twice as big as he was.”

“Makes sense,” Darcy said, watching Bucky’s profile instead of the program. She still had the remote in her hand, ready to shut the power off if need be.

Just before the station cut to a commercial break, they teased what was coming up with a picture of Bucky in his military uniform, looking dapper with a broad smile on his face. Darcy felt like someone had punched her in the gut. The man on the screen looked so different and yet was undeniably the man sitting just a few feet away. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized a part of her had been second-guessing his revelation since he’d made it in the middle of the afternoon the previous day. She’d believed him, but there was also that little piece of her that remained a skeptic. She couldn’t deny that his story was true any longer, though.

The advertisement for paper towels was loud and obnoxious. Darcy looked over at Bucky, but his eyes were still on the screen, though he looked very far away. “Bucky,” she said softly.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, disbelief written on his own face.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“You look like you’re in shock.”

“They put my picture on the TV,” he replied.

Darcy smiled. “Yeah, I know. You’re kinda famous.”

“But I don’t want to be.” Fear seeped into his gaze. “What if someone recognizes me?”

She almost laughed, but it really wasn’t the appropriate moment. Things were different in Bucky’s world, and he’d asked the question sincerely. “It’s okay, Bucky. I was with you for days and didn’t recognize you. No one is going to believe that a war hero who died in nineteen-forty-five is alive and looking not very different due to medical experimentation and good, old-fashioned cryogenics.”

His lips moved, but nothing came out of his mouth. Darcy tried to imagine what it must feel like to wake up and realize you’d lost years or decades and to also realize there were shows about you and your friend.

“Let’s turn it off,” she said, pointing the remote at the TV.

“No,” he said quickly, holding up his left hand. The glint of the television reflecting off the metal of his arm caught his eye. She watched him lower it and turn his hand over to look at his palm. “It’s all so much,” he whispered. “I should have died.”

“Bucky. Don’t talk like that. Don’t… Just don’t.”

The program returned and picked up right where it left off, zooming in on the picture of Bucky. His hat was tilted just slightly to the side and his grin was almost cocky. She watched the man in front of her look at himself on the television screen and then back at the metal arm attached to his body.

“I don’t know if we should watch this.”

“Please,” he told her, “please leave it on.”

She bit her lower lip and spent the next forty-seven minutes glancing between the screen and the man on a proverbial ledge just feet away. What if the documentary pushed him too far? What if it damaged his psyche because it was too much, too fast? What if she was responsible for screwing up his already delicate mind?

Darcy watched his profile as he stared at the screen, completely rapt by the images and the narration. He only flinched once and that was when a shaky camera filmed the reenactment of his death as he fell from the train. They didn’t show the actor’s face, only his back and his hand slipping off the handle as Captain America’s stand-in reached out to pull him back inside.

Shortly after this, the documentary wrapped up with the narrator telling everyone what became of the Howling Commandos who survived, summing up their lives and deaths in short order. When the screen flipped to a commercial, he looked down at the floor and said, “They’re all dead.”

Darcy pressed her lips together. “Yeah, all but Captain America. That stuff—well, it happened a long time ago.” She huffed out a laugh that was more sad than anything else. “I know you understand that, but… does it feel like seventy years to you?”

He looked over at her for the first time in a very long time. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Seventy years is a long time,” Darcy said.

He nodded and shifted his gaze to the floor.

It wasn’t until then that it hit her. He felt guilty. He certainly looked guilty. “Hey,” she said, pushing herself up to her feet. “They all lived lives that they chose to live. You didn’t get that choice so don’t go feeling bad for anyone but yourself.”

He looked up at her as she moved to stand in front of him. “It’s so much, Darcy. It’s just too much. I can’t…”

“We probably shouldn’t have watched that,” she told him. “Damage is done, though.”

“I wanted to watch it.”

“I know you did. I should have known better than to let you, though.”

This made him give her a very sad smile. “You think you were going to stop me?”

She grinned back. “I had the remote and you’re too much of a gentleman to take it away from me.”

“I ain’t no gentleman, doll. Not even when I was myself.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You looked pretty dapper.”

Bucky raised his brows. “Dapper don’t mean I was a gentleman.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I bet you were a cocky little shit who made all the girls swoon. I bet you loved it, too.”

He gave a broken laugh and shook his head as he dropped his gaze again. “I was,” he agreed.

“Just take things one day at a time. That’s all you really can do right now.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t look at her. “Okay, doll.”

“Are you just saying that to appease me?” she asked him.

This time he did look up at her and smiled. “Yes and no.”

“Well, at least you’re honest, Bucky. I’ll give you that.” Darcy wanted to reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder, but she knew touching wasn’t something he was comfortable with outside of a pitch-black room. “Hey, I’m going to change into some pajamas. Are you dead set on keeping watch?”

“Yes,” he replied.

She sighed and said, “Will you wake me up around two so you can get some rest, too?”

“No.”

“Jerk,” she told him with a smile.

“Watch that mouth, doll,” he replied with a grin of his own. It was strained and his eyes were haunted, but he was still trying hard to be okay. It made her want to give him a hug.

“You gonna be okay, Bucky?” she asked, her voice soft and hopefully expressing the concern she felt for him.

He pressed his lips together and slide his gaze to the side before looking back up at her and saying, “I’m trying.”

“Good enough. I’ll be right back.”

When she got to the bathroom door with her bag, she turned to look back because she felt the weight of his gaze on her. She wasn’t wrong; he was watching her as she walked away. Darcy gave him a tight smile before slipping inside and closing the door. She undressed and threw on a pair of shorts and one of the new tees she’d bought at Target before washing her face and brushing her hair and teeth.

He was right where she’d left him on the foot of the bed when she returned. “Are you sure you need to keep watch, Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

He was breathing in tandem with her, pulling air in and exhaling slow and steady. She’d been asleep for six hours. It was just after two o’clock in the afternoon, and he knew this because he’d decided to leave the small alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds plugged in. She always seemed disoriented when she woke and didn’t know the time. It was a small concession to make for her even if he’d spent all the hours since she’d fallen asleep watching the numbers tick away the day and his miserable life.

He could just barely make out her arm and the way it tapered into her delicate wrist in the eerie red glow of the alarm clock display. She was halfway on her stomach and hugging the pillow beneath her head. Bucky longed to touch her, to reach out and lay his right hand against her leg and feel the warmth and softness of her skin. It was easier to allow himself the indulgence in the dark when she couldn’t see him for the monster he was and he couldn’t see his filthy hand touching her.

Standing up, he moved to the bed next to her and sat down on the edge. The position allowed him to see her face in the red glow of the alarm clock, but only just her dark lashes, the slope of her nose and one cheekbone, and her alluring pink lips that looks so much darker in the low light. Her breathing shifted and she opened her eyes. Bucky nearly recoiled and fled.

“You wanna lie down?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep.

“No,” he whispered.

She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand, elbow digging into the mattress. “You let me touch you in the dark,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he replied, unable to explain why or elaborate or even lie to avoid the discomfort of the truth.

She shifted and moved to the other side of the bed. “Do you want to lie here and hold hands with me?”

Bucky closed his eyes and tried to say no, but he wanted the reassurance of his humanity through her touch too much to stay away. After only a handful of seconds, he stood and moved to stand by her bed. “Why?” he asked.

“Because you’ve had a rough day—or decade—and hugs always make me feel better. Except, I don’t think you’re ready for a hug so I figured the next best thing would be to hold hands.” He heard her hand pat the mattress. “Come on.”

He sat down and carefully swung his legs up, shoes and all, until he was lying on his back beside her. She shifted and when he looked over, he could barely make out her profile as she settled onto her back as well.

“Take my hand,” she whispered.

Swallowing the emotion welling up in his chest and trying to claw its way out his throat, he reached out with his right hand and brushed her arm. He followed it down until he felt her slender wrist and then the cup of her palm.

“Got you,” she said, sliding her fingers between his and clasping their hands together.

He closed his eyes and listened to her breathe in and out. Out and in.

“Why do you like the dark?” she asked. “You mentioned that when they first took you after the train that they put you in a dark cell. Wouldn’t that make you want the light?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “The light was the table and the experiments. It was the electric shocks and the beatings. Light was fighting until I killed my opponent.”

“And dark was quiet,” she said, squeezing his hand.

Bucky opened his eyes and looked up at the nothingness above him. “Dark was relief.”

“You know,” she said, “I’m not a violent person, but I wish I could kill them all for what they did to you. It was inhumane and cruel and they deserve a painful fucking death for doing it.”

He smiled and turned his head to look in her direction, though he couldn’t really make out her face. “You’re a kind person.”

“So are you, despite all that happened. That’s what’s so surprising.”

“I’m not kind,” he said, shocked at her words. He was so many things and some of them were even acceptable, but he was not kind, not _good_. Not like her.

“Mmm, hmm,” she hummed, squeezing his hand again. “You keep on telling yourself that, Bucky. It won't change reality.”

“I think you're crazy,” he said, trying and failing not to smile at the way she teased him to lighten the mood.

“Obviously,” she whispered, pulling his hand closer until his knuckles brushed against the outside of her bare thigh.

He closed his eyes again and focused on his breath and the mattress beneath him and the touch of her soft skin. It was a strange sensation to feel like he was unmoored and floating through space and yet also tethered to and grounded by her. He squeezed her hand back and she pressed his knuckles more fully into the flesh of her thigh.

“This is nice,” Darcy whispered.

Ignoring the stinging in his sinuses that foretold tears, Bucky smiled in the dark. “Yes, it is.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

> _“Oh, it’s gonna slip, slip, slip through your hands.” - Elliot Moss (Slip)_

Darcy dug her cell phone out of her purse and turned it over in her hand. She’d been missing for days and Jane had probably been trying to reach her. Bucky was being overly cautious about their safety, but she didn’t really believe that HYDRA could or even would track her cell. Besides, according to all of the crime shows she’d obsessively binged on those late nights while Jane was watching the stars, it took at least a minute or two to triangulate the origin of a phone call. She had no intention of staying on the phone that long.

Taking care to be quiet, Darcy slipped out the door and into the hallway while the phone turned on. As soon as the home screen came up, she went to her recent call list and touched Jane’s name. “Come on, Jane. Come on, pick up,” Darcy muttered under her breath as she listened to the third ring.

“Darcy? Darcy, are you okay?” Jane’s voice was panicked and breathless.

“I’m okay,” she told her friend.

“Where are you? What happened? They found your car at some construction site in D.C. and, and, and your apartment… There were bullet holes–”

“Jane. Stop. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m not hurt. I kinda got wrapped up in something with this guy. He knows Captain America. He’s also totally competent and has kept me safe.”

“Who is this guy? Why can’t he bring you back?”

Darcy sighed. “Long story. Look, this organization called HYDRA is after him and me. I can’t stay on the phone long or they might track my location. Can you get in touch with Captain America and ask him to call my cell? Tell him I won’t be able to answer, but he should leave a message for his friend that recently came back into his life. I think he’ll know what I mean. Tell him I’ll do my best to get his message to that friend.”

“Darcy, this is insane. Your apartment is in shambles and I thought you were dead and–”

“I gotta go, Jane. Just… find Captain America and give him the message. Okay?”

Jane said, “Fine,” but she didn’t seem very happy with the situation. “Be careful, Dar–”

Darcy hung up before Jane could finish her sentence. Was the call too long? It couldn’t have been more than a minute. She quickly turned the phone off and squeezed it in her trembling hand. What if she’d fucked up? What if he got mad at her for trying to contact Captain America? What if he left her all alone for HYDRA to find and attack?

Her stomach turned over at the idea as she opened up the door to the hotel room and stepped back inside. The shower was still running. Darcy sat on the bed and tried not to think about him in the stall and whether he was allowed to get his left arm wet. If he was showering, it was bound to get wet. Was that bad? Would it rust? She bet he looked really good naked judging by the preview she’d gotten the times he’d taken his shirt off in front of her. Other than Thor, Darcy didn’t often find herself around men who looked like they spent all their free time working out, so it was a bit of a novelty when one came her way.

She laid her purse down by the unzipped duffle and sighed. Had she made a mistake calling Jane? Would he be upset with her when he found out? She knew deep down that he would, and this made her wish she could take it all back even though she knew that they couldn’t run forever. If he really was James Buchanan Barnes, then he deserved more than hiding in seedy motels and living off gas station sandwiches, especially if he’d spent the past seventy years as a prisoner of war.

The desk was covered with the white index cards she’d bought him. They were in neat lines across the wooden desktop, occasional breaks in the timeline left open to receive memories he hadn’t jotted down or maybe even periods of time that were still missing from his head. She was tempted to walk over and read them while he was in the shower, but betraying his trust twice in one night probably wasn’t the best idea.

“What’s wrong?”

Darcy jerked to attention when she heard his voice. He was standing in the doorway of the bathroom in a fresh shirt, but the same jeans he’d had on the previous night. “Nothing,” she told him. “Just thinking about where to go next.”

“You know as well as me, doll. A lot has changed since the forties.”

His dirty shirt and boxers were wadded up in his hand and she held out one of the plastic Target bags they’d been keeping their dirty laundry in. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking the bag from her and depositing his dirty laundry before storing it in the duffle on the bed behind her. “Shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”

“I stayed up and kept watch.”

“You were in bed with me. You can’t keep watch from bed.”

Darcy turned around and smiled at him. “Says who? I can listen and scream just as well there as in the desk chair. Maybe even better. I’ll have you know I didn’t fall asleep until you woke up.”

He just shook his head at her and surveyed the hotel room with hands on hips, eyes landing on the desk and his memories. She’d fibbed just a bit. Darcy had fallen asleep before he’d woken, but she didn’t think the overlap had been more than an hour. When she’d roused just after eight that evening, he was hunched over the desk, arranging and rearranging those white index cards.

“Did you make any progress?” she asked. When he looked at her with a blank expression on his face, she nodded at the desk. “Any progress on the memories.”

Bucky gave a heavy sigh as he stepped over and gathered them up into one pile. “Yes and no.”

“Looks like you made progress.”

He put the stack of cards in the back pocket of his jeans. “Did you read them?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that to you, Bucky. Those are yours. You get to share them or not.”

He looked at the floor when he said, “You could… you could look at them if you want.” Darcy watched him pull in a deep breath. “You might think of me different, though.” His lips pressed together in something that straddled the line between a smile and a grimace. “You should read them if you’re insisting on staying with me. You should know who I am, what I’ve done.”

“Did you leave them out for me to read while you were in the shower?”

Bucky lifted his gaze to hers. “Yes.”

“Well, your plan backfired. Sorry, dude.”

This made him give a broken laugh. “Thought they’re what put that look on your face when I came outta the bathroom.”

“Nope,” she said, “that look was courtesy of good old-fashioned anxiety over guys with guns coming after us.” So it was another little lie, a slight twist of the truth.

With hands on his hips, he turned away from her and paced over to the door and back. “We should go, doll. Probably should change vehicles before we leave town, too.” He looked down at the floor before returning his gaze to her. “I think you should go to Steve for help. I’d… I’d help you get to him.”

Darcy stood up and pulled her hair into a ponytail, using the elastic on her wrist to secure it. “Bucky, I think _you_ should go to Steve for help. What are you gonna do? Keep running the rest of your life?”

He shook his head. “Ain’t figured that out yet. I’m just saying that you can’t do this for much longer. You got a life and I’m not your problem.”

“No, you’re not my problem. You’re not anyone’s problem except for those HYDRA assholes.”

“I ain’t going to Steve,” he told her.

Darcy rolled her eyes and walked over to grab the duffle from the bed. His hand shot out so he could wrap his fingers around the strap and pull the bag from her grasp. “I’ll get it. You get the key and check us out.”

She rolled her eyes and made sure he saw it. When he found out that she’d tried to reach out to Steve, he was going to be royally pissed off at her. The idea of hurting or upsetting him made her stomach twist. He’d been through so much, and she really didn’t intend on making it worse. They couldn’t just keep running, though.

They took the stairs down to the first floor, and he peeled away from her to stand at the mouth of the hallway that led to more rooms and the side entrance to the building. He was paranoid, but she couldn’t really blame him for it. She didn’t know what he’d been through, and his paranoia had saved her once already.

As Darcy stood at the counter and waited for the desk clerk to work his magic on the hotel’s computer system, the automatic doors at the main entrance behind her slid open. Just as she registered it, she felt a warm hand on her bicep. She stepped back before she realized it was Bucky.

“Let’s go,” he said under his breath.

The keycard for the hotel room was lying on the counter between her and the hotel clerk. “I’m almost done,” she told him.

Instead of responding, Bucky forcibly pulled her away from the counter and toward the hallway that would take them out the side entrance.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’ve been compromised,” he replied, voice low and also devoid of emotion. She stumbled along behind him as he pulled her by her arm. The man she’d been talking to in the room upstairs was all but gone now. This man was more like the one she’d met in the parking lot.

“Bucky,” she said, “are you sure? I mean, I didn’t see anything–”

“Shut up,” he muttered, pressing himself against the wall by the door and pulling the pistol from where he’d tucked it at the small of his back.

“Bucky,” she said, again.

“Follow me and keep your head down,” he said, not even looking at her.

“Bucky.”

He didn’t reply. Darcy started wondering if he was delusional until she looked down the hallway toward the check-in desk and saw two men walking toward them, guns with long silencers screwed on the barrels held close to their thighs. When they noticed her looking their way, one of them raised his gun.

Before he could fire the gun, Bucky had raised his and shot the man in the forehead. Darcy screamed and squatted down in the hall, hands covering her head as several shots rang out. The pops of gunfire and the plaster flying off the wall over her head happened at the same moment. Before she could even register who had been shot and what was happening, Bucky had a hold on her arm again and he was pulling her up.

The glass window on the door shattered right before he pushed it open and dragged her outside. She saw two black SUVs idling in the driving lane of the lot, parked haphazardly. She also saw three men to her right in black fatigues with guns. At the same moment she screamed, bullets flew. She wasn’t capable of determining what happened and when, but she did know within only a handful of seconds Bucky was pulling her up to her feet again and two of the men were sprawled across the small lawn just to the right of the sidewalk around the hotel. The third man was injured and attempting to reach for his gun lying a couple feet from his hand.

“He’s–” Darcy started to tell Bucky that the man was still a threat, but stopped when he pulled her along with him, lowering the muzzle of his pistol to shoot the man in the head while they were standing only a couple feet away. It wasn’t what she had expected him to do, so when it happened, she screamed and pulled away from Bucky.

He turned to look at her with those expressionless, icy eyes that belonged to the man who had abducted her, not to the man who had spent a good portion of the past few hours sleeping with his hand in hers. “Move,” he told her, tilting his head around the side of the building. “Stay low,” he added.

Despite him being more than a little intimidating and scary, she still followed him. It was either follow the dangerous assassin and do what he said or run and risk getting killed by the men who were after them. It wasn’t really a choice at all. “Bucky,” she whispered.

“Quiet,” he snapped, pressing his back to the building. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she’d not even seen him grab one of the assault weapons from the men he’d killed. His pistol was tucked in the waistband of his jeans and the rifle was held in his right hand, muzzle pointed toward the sky. Some eyewitness she’d be; she wasn’t even aware of what was happening. It was all a blur and by the time she’d caught her breath, things had happened in front of her own eyes that she didn’t even have a recollection of. Her ears were beginning to ring as the sharp pops from the guns revealed the damage they’d done.

Bullets smacked into the pavement of the parking lot and sent pieces of concrete flying as they also hit the curb just around the corner. “Oh my god,” Darcy muttered, her voice quivering. Just as she opened her mouth to say something more, Bucky whirled around and leveled his gun at her. For a fraction of a second, she thought he might just shoot her on the spot, but the sharp pain of someone grabbing her hair from behind and pulling her off balance made her realize that he’d been trying to get at the person who had snuck up behind him.

Darcy screamed and dropped her purse, grabbing for the hand that was tangled in her hair as she stumbled back into a hard body. She lost sight of Bucky, but that was probably because he was bent over. The tip of his gun was dragging on the ground as he tried to use his left hand to rip two Taser probes from his chest. The man still holding her by the hair yanked her back, making Darcy scream again as two men stepped around her to converge on Bucky, who was struggling to make his muscles work for him instead of against him.

Two more men appeared from behind Bucky, one of them carrying a syringe. She screamed, “No!” when she realized their intention was to knock him out and take him back in. “No, no, no! “ Darcy yelled at them. “Don’t you fucking dare! Bucky! Bucky!” She struggled against the man who was trying to throw her to the ground, eventually stepping back onto his foot accidentally.

Instinct kicked in and she brought her knee up before stepping down on her heel again and crushing his foot with the chunky heel of her dress shoes. “Fuck!” he muttered, letting his grip on her slacken as he took a step back.

“Bucky, behind you,” she said on a breathless exhale as she lurched forward and grabbed at the wires supplying the electrical charge to the probes buried in his chest. She wasn’t able to grab them, but when she tripped and fell onto the pavement her body pulled the wires down and the probes out. “Behind you!” she screamed again when she could see that he was able to move again.

Bucky lifted his left arm and slammed it back into the face of the man with the syringe. He went down hard. Darcy looked across the pavement and realized the side of his skull had been caved in by Bucky’s blow. Her stomach turned at the blood dripping onto the blacktop and unnatural way his temple looked

More gunshots made her curl into a ball. She heard several hit metal and one came close enough to her that chunks of asphalt smacked against the back of her head. It seemed to go on forever, but in reality, Darcy knew it was probably only a few seconds. Suddenly everything was still except for police sirens in the distance, still several blocks away.

Just as she dared to uncover her head and look at the carnage, a metal hand came down and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her to her feet with what seemed like very little effort. Her heart was beating rapidly and she wanted to cry with relief that he was still alive.

“Bucky,” she said.

“Are you hit?” he asked. The man looking at her was not Bucky, not really. He was some strange combination of that and what HYDRA had made him.

“I don’t think so,” she said, looking down at her body.

He released her. “Get your bag. We need to move.”

“Bucky,” she said again.

“Move!” he snapped, stepping over to grab the duffle.

She swallowed the words she wanted to say and did as she was told. By the time she got to the vehicle, he had it running. She dropped into the passenger seat, not even a second before he backed up and pulled out of the lot. They drove several blocks over and dumped the car for a new one in the dark parking lot behind a restaurant.

Darcy didn’t dare say anything until they were on the highway out of town. Now that she’d had a moment to breathe and to think, the reality of what had happened was beginning to sink in. The reality was that there could only be one way those men knew where to find them. “Bucky,” she whispered.

His fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel. “How did they find us?”’

She pressed her lips together and focused her gaze out the windshield at the red taillights of the car in front of them. “I… I called Jane,” she whispered.

“How?” His voice was sharp and unforgiving.

Darcy felt tears gathering in her eyes and she tried to press her hands together to keep them from trembling. “My cell. I turned it on and called her. I… I only… I didn’t keep it on for more than a minute. It was less than a minute.”

He looked furious but in a very calm way. He was the still dark water with the merciless monsters just beneath. “I told you–”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I know. I fucked up. I know I fucked up. Please believe me. I… I just wanted to help.”

“How does exposing our location to the enemy help?” he snapped, eyes forward, not even sparing a glance her way.

“I didn’t know that’s what would happen.”

“I _told_ you that’s what would happen.”

She exhaled a shaky breath as tears rolled down her cheeks. Darcy interlocked her fingers, palms together, and tried to keep them from shaking so much. “I fucked up,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry. I thought… I thought she could get a message to Steve and–”

The car started to slow as he let up off the gas pedal. “ _What_?”

“Oh, god. Oh, fuck. I… I just wanted to help, Bucky. I just wanted to…”

He pressed the gas pedal down again and sped past a tractor-trailer. “I told you no. I told you not to involve him.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I just thought–”

“Don’t think,” he snapped back at her.

“Bucky,” she said.

“Stop.”

“Bucky…”

“Stop,” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument from her.

Darcy swallowed her weak explanations and wrapped her arms around her body. Now that she was sitting still, her hip ached from where she’d landed hard on the pavement. Her elbow and the heel of her left hand were raw, torn from the rough ground that she’d landed on. Her hearing wasn’t yet back to normal, and her scalp was tender from the man who had pulled her hair. She hadn’t even seen what had become of him. There was no doubt in her head that he was lying on the ground with a bullet in his body, though. The man in the driver’s seat didn’t leave survivors behind. It wasn’t in his training.

She inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled slowly. Explanations were tumbling around in her head, but she knew her attempts to justify her actions would just upset him further. They might even cause him to pull over and tell her to get out of the vehicle. Part of her wouldn’t blame him. Things had been going so well and now they were back to square one. He was almost unrecognizable as the man who’d offered up his secrets to her on index cards laid out over the desk of the room they’d shared.

He drove for three hours before they ran out of gas. Instead of filling up the tank like a normal human being, he stole another car while she sat in the current one at the far end of the lot for a nearly deserted office park. Once he'd successfully hotwired the vehicle, he'd come to retrieve her like she was just another bag. It wasn't until that moment that Darcy started to worry that he wasn't just mad at her. The action outside the hotel had seemed to set him back into the frame of mind he'd been in when she'd met him, and even after hours of silence in the car, he still wasn't acting like the person she'd come to know.

Darcy sat in the passenger seat and watched the dark and nearly deserted roads as he continued southwest, nothing but flat highways and the horizon never getting any closer. So many times she opened her mouth to say something in order to test the waters or ease the tension between them. Each and every time, she ended up keeping her pointless words to herself. This was her fault. She'd done this.

She was responsible for those deaths and his current fucked up mental state. The ache in her body from the fall and the blood on her hand and elbow were reminders of her stupidity. She'd gotten off light, all things considered. She could have been dead on the sidewalk of that hotel with the men who had attacked them. He could have pushed her out of the passenger seat and told her to fend for herself at any mile marker between there and here. She should have been counting her blessings. Instead, she felt that familiar tightness in her chest as emotion started building, as a sob climbed up her throat and out her mouth.

Darcy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise and turned away from him to look out the window at the bales of hay sitting in the field just beyond the dusty shoulder of the road. Sniffing, she tried to regulate her breathing, tried not to cry as she considered the implications of her actions.

She sniffed again and wrapped both arms around her midsection. Her face was wet with tears, but she was no longer making noise that might distract him from driving or irritate him. She didn’t really believe he would hurt her; he’d had the opportunity and he’d only protected her. He could have pulled over and forced her to get out. They’d been located because of her, after all. She was the one who had fucked up. She was the one who had been lulled into a false sense of security and mistakenly believed that things weren’t as serious as he’d made them out to be.

He sighed and said, “Don't cry.”

Darcy swallowed but didn't turn her head to look at him. Instead, she just whispered, “I'm sorry.”

It took a moment for him to reply with, “I know you are. Don't cry.”

“Are you hurt? Did they shoot you?” She'd been desperate to ask but terrified of the answer.

He shifted his gaze over for just a moment. “No. I’m not hurt. Are you?”

“No.”

He pressed his lips together and didn't respond for a full minute. Finally, he said, “Your arm and hand are bleeding.”

“Just a couple scratches,” Darcy replied.

He grunted an acknowledgment and shifted his full attention back to the road.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy whispered. “I don’t know what else to say, Bucky.”

“I know,” he replied, eyes on the road. “Don’t cry.”

She sniffed and gave a sad, broken laugh. “You can order me around and make me switch cars or follow you, but you can’t tell me I’m not allowed to cry.”

It wasn’t clear if his jaw tensed or if the shadows cast by the lights above the road shifted at just that moment. Either way, he didn’t move his eyes from the windshield and the road quickly disappearing underneath the blue pickup truck he’d stolen. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“Me crying?”

He gave a single nod.

Darcy sniffed again and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

She chewed on her lower lip but didn’t know what to say to him.

In the end, he was the one who broke the silence between them by saying, “You saved me.”

This made Darcy huff out a sharp breath of disbelief. “I did not. I fucked up and gave away our location.”

“You pulled the probes out of my chest. They were going to take me back to…” He trailed off.

Darcy sighed and said, “Look, dude, I can’t do much when it comes to fighting, but I promise you that I’ll do whatever I can to keep anyone from holding you against your will again. What they did to you was horrible. You have my promise that I’ll always do what I can to help you be your own person or whatever.”

He didn’t reply; he just pulled in a deep breath, expanding his chest, before exhaling it from parted lips. Darcy opened her mouth to say something else but didn’t know what else there was to say. The damage had been done, and she wasn’t sure if they’d ever get back to where they’d been earlier that day when he’d trusted her enough to fall asleep next to her with their fingers entwined and their palms pressed together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you lovely readers who have commented to let me know you're enjoying the fic. I <3 you. :-)


	11. Chapter 11

 

> _“Talk to me and I better not hear a word. Do me, baby, and I better not feel it, girl. I still got one bullet left in my nine. ‘Finna do a love crime.” - The Afghan Whigs (Love Crimes)_

They stopped for gas twice and managed to get several hundred miles away from the scene at the hotel before the day began to lighten. There were hazy clouds in the pink-tinged sky as they pulled into the lot of a rundown motel just off the highway. She wanted to say something to him, but he didn’t seem interested in talking. They’d had their stilted conversation in which he seemed to accept her foolish action, but not really forgive her for it.

Her heart felt heavy and her mood had fallen into hopelessness. He put the truck into park and stared out the windshield. She followed his gaze and saw the depressing scene before them. The paint on the single-level motel had faded to a sickly green and was flaking off. The windows were dusty, and there were pieces of fast food wrappers and containers overflowing the trash can by the office door.

“Do you want your own room?” she asked softly.

He finally looked at her for the first time in hours. “What?” he asked, his brows drawing together.

“Seems like you don’t want to be around me,” she whispered.

He looked away as he pulled in a deep breath and exhaled it in a heavy sigh. “One room,” he told her.

She pressed her lips together to keep herself from asking all the questions and begging him to tell her that everything would be okay. He was damaged and didn't need the strain of carrying her through the trauma they were going through when he could barely carry himself. Darcy opened the door and paused before saying, “Are we safe? Am I going to get shot crossing the parking lot?”

“We’re clear for now.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. Darcy slipped off the bench seat of the truck and crossed the gravel lot to the wooden screen door of the office. After she'd rented the room for the day from a man with a stained shirt and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, she walked back to the truck with the key.

Bucky got out and retrieved the duffle from the back before he silently followed her to a room on the far end of the structure. Before she opened the door, she paused with her hand on the knob and said, “They only had a room with one bed. You can have it. I can sleep in the chair.”

“I don't need sleep. It's yours.”

She felt like crying but didn't really know why her chest ached. Instead of replying, she opened the door to a musty and dark room. The air conditioner rattled as it struggled to keep up with the heat.

He sat the bag on the corner of the queen bed before moving the armchair and scratched-up table into position facing the door. “Sleep. You can drive tonight. We need to keep moving.”

“Bucky,” she said, dropping her purse in the floor by the door.

“Sleep.”

She pulled a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top from the duffle bag he'd carried in before tucking a pair of clean underwear in the middle. “Can I shower?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The distance between them felt insurmountable. “Okay,” she whispered, making her way into the dingy room. Before she shut the door, she looked over her shoulder at him and said, “I'm so sorry for… everything, Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

 

The water was running and all he could think about was her. He kept flashing back to that moment outside the hotel when one of the men had her by her hair and she was looking at him with wild eyes as the modified Taser sent an electrical current through his body that would have killed a normal human. That's something he no longer was—a human. He was some bastardized version that straddled the lines between man and machine.

Bucky closed his eyes and saw her curled up on the ground, blood on her arm. For a moment he'd mistaken the rash on her arm from the rough asphalt for blood from a bullet wound. His consciousness had bounced back from the emotionless machine to Bucky at that moment, but only briefly. He’d spent the night with his eyes on the road and his mind in disarray as he shifted between the man he was trying to be and the weapon they’d made him.

It was obvious she thought he was upset with her. He was many things—anxious, angry, scared, disgusted—but none of these things were for her. Bucky didn’t know how to tell her this. He didn’t know how to make her stop apologizing, and when she did apologize, he didn’t know how to accept it.

He closed his eyes and felt some measure of relief in the darkness behind his lids. He heard the door open and the sound of her feet moving across the floor. There was the rustle of her dirty clothes and the sound of the bag hitting the ground next to the bed. He knew he should open his eyes and look at her, but that only brought him anxiety.

Something shifted in front of him and then the light from the room, which wasn’t noticeable through his eyelids until it wasn’t there any longer, was gone. More movement and the metal rungs the curtains hung from sliding along the rod. He opened his eyes to find a dark room and her silhouette displayed against the curtain that wasn’t quite thick enough to keep out all the light.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Giving you the dark.”

His chest was tight with emotion that he didn’t know what to do with. There needed to be a release valve, some way to let some of that pressure escape before he blew apart right in front of her. “Doll, you don’t…”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I need you to believe–”

“I do. Stop apologizing to me. I know you didn’t mean to make all that happen.”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” she whispered to him in the dark. She stepped forward and smacked her shin against a low table. “Dammit.”

He stood up and took two steps over to her, holding out his hand. She laid her forearm in his palm and wrapped her fingers around his forearm right below the tender skin at the crook of his elbow. A memory of an IV sitting there in his arm, pumping medication or sedatives or drugs or something into his body, hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Bucky,” she said, squeezing his arm.

Her voice brought him right back to the present. “I’m sorry for putting you in this spot, doll. I’m real sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have known better.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Me too, dude. I should have known that calling Jane was a bad idea. I should have known that TV shows probably aren’t exactly the best source of info on how fast a call can be tracked.”

He inhaled through his nose and savored the clean scent of her wet hair and soft skin. She was so delicate, so fragile. And yet, there was also this undercurrent of strength running through her that allowed her to forgive and accept and stomp her heel down on the foot of that man who was holding her before pulling the probes out of his chest. “You saved me back there. You saved me,” he whispered for fear of his voice breaking on the words.

“You saved yourself.”

“Darcy, no. They would have taken me back. They would have wiped me, maybe so completely I’d never come back from it. I’m here because of you.”

She laughed under her breath, nervous and just a little reluctant to take the credit. She wasn’t that type of person. She didn’t take credit; she just did things that changed the course of what was happening. Maybe she didn't know how much she’d swayed his course.

“I'm not mad at you, doll,” he told her, just giving up and saying what he'd been meaning to, giving up on finding a way to say it better or differently.

Her fingers squeezed his arm. “Good. I was worried you'd hate me forever.”

The way she'd said it like there was some spot in her future for him made Bucky's throat tighten, made it difficult to pull in a breath of air. “You think I'll be around that long?”

“You better be.” He could hear the sweet smile in her voice when she said, “You and I, we've been through some intense shit in the past few days. I don't think we could ever be strangers.”

When he blinked, he realized tears were rolling down his cheeks. “No,” he agreed, “we could never be strangers.”

She tugged on his arm gently, but he resisted, keeping his feet planted on the ground where he stood. Darcy tugged again and when he didn’t move, she stepped into him instead. He pulled in a sharp breath as he felt the heat of her body not more than an inch from his. “They can’t find us,” she said, sounding like she was equal parts confident and questioning.

“Maybe,” he whispered, looking down at her brown hair falling over her shoulder.

“I threw my phone in the trash can at that first gas station we stopped at.”

“Why?”

“Because it fucked things up. I should have known better.”

“Darcy, don’t,” he said, swallowing the emotion that was thick in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just scared. We’ll do this your way,” she whispered, tilting her head and pressing her forehead lightly against his collarbone. Their forearms were still lying against one another her fingers wrapped around his arm and his around hers.

Bucky laughed softly. “I don’t have a way, doll. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m… making this all up.”

“Why won’t you turn yourself in to Steve? I didn’t even know you before, and I understand what they did to you. I think he’d understand, too.”

“I tried to kill him,” he whispered into her hair.

“It’s more complicated than that,” she replied. When he didn’t answer, she looked up at him but he could barely make out her features in the dark room. She probably couldn’t see him any better. “I threw out my phone. I don’t even know what city we’re in, so how can they? Can’t we just pretend we’re safe for today?”

His lips twisted in what was likely a terrible smile. “I don’t know how to pretend that anymore.”

“Can we sit here and talk for a little bit? I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Whatever you want, doll.” He meant it to the depths of his soul, too. In that moment he would have given her whatever she asked for. She’d just seen him turn into a monster a few hours ago, and yet she was still willing to pull him back from the edge with a simple touch of her hand in the dark of a dirty motel room.

With what felt like reluctance, she let go of him and stepped back so she could walk around him and sit on the edge of the single bed. Bucky could sense her behind him as he looked at the hazy square of the brown curtain that kept most of the daylight out of the room. The ghost of her hand on his forearm felt almost like a brand.

He curled his fingers into a fist and sighed before saying, “I’d sit beside you, but I have blood on my clothes.”

She was quiet for a very long moment, and then she said, “I… I didn’t even notice. Wow. I’d be a terrible eyewitness.”

“You were in shock.”

“That was hours ago.”

“It can linger,” he assured her. “Trust me.”

“I do.”

He closed his eyes but still couldn’t manage to turn around and face her. Instead, he listened as she rummaged through the bag in the floor. This did make him finally turn to watch her shadowy form bent over as she went through the clothes by touch.

“Here,” she said, holding out something to him.

Bucky lifted his right hand and took it, running his thumb over the cotton fabric. They were pants—the kind someone would sleep in. He hadn’t worn anything like it in decades. It was soft and comfortable and completely unsuited to combat. He wondered if it was just chance that she’d picked them or if it was strategic, if it was her way of pulling him back into the world, into _her_ world.

He dropped his hand to the belt around his waist and undid the buckle. She laughed nervously. “Should I cover my eyes?”

“Can you see anything?”

“Just your silhouette against the window.”

“I trust you,” he whispered. What he didn’t say was that it was more embarrassing that he’d not considered what was socially acceptable. It was the animal in him coming out. He’d spent decades being stripped and sprayed and stowed away for another day when they needed their scariest weapon. Most of those memories were vague and hazy, creeping at the corners of his consciousness, but there were a few moments that were so crystal clear he felt like he was inside them and living it again. They were just flashes, a handful of seconds in which he was naked and standing against a wall as a spray of water turned the dried blood on his hands into something like watercolors that spiraled down the drain at his feet while men in lab coats and uniforms debriefed him.

Bucky pulled in a ragged breath as he pushed the jeans down his legs, toeing off his boots as he did so. Her voice was muffled when she said, “I’m covering my eyes for you.”

“Why?” he asked, taking off the socks.

He pulled on the pair of cotton pants while she said, “Because you deserve some privacy, Bucky.”

“You don’t count,” he told her. “Being with you is like being by myself.”

She laughed and uncovered her eyes. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Darcy said.

“Compliment,” he told her. Bucky opened his mouth to explain what he’d meant, but didn’t know how to express it in words.

She seemed to accept the simple answer because she patted the mattress next to her. He only saw the vague flutter of her hand moving up and down in the dark, but he heard the sound of her palm smacking against the bed.

Bucky sat next to her, careful not to get too close. “I think we’re safe here,” she whispered.

“For now,” he agreed. The sensation of being under the open sky crept up on him and he lay back on the bed, his feet still on the floor. A memory of sleeping on an old cot with a lumpy mattress with Steve only two feet away in his own bed swept Bucky back in time and almost took his breath. They’d had a good dinner that night and all the guys had stayed up late around a fire they’d built. He tried to put the memory into the sequence he’d written down on her index cards but wasn’t sure where it fell. Steve was Captain America by then, and they’d been tracking HYDRA in an effort to find Zola. So, it was after his initial time in HYDRA hands, after the first round of experiments. Before his death.

“Where are you?” she whispered.

Bucky looked over and realized she was lying next to him, side-by-side on their backs. He couldn’t see her features, but he could make out the shape of her body and feel the warmth of her breath when she’d turned her head to ask the question. “I’m here with you,” he replied.

“A moment ago.”

“I don’t know. Europe somewhere. With Steve. Before the war ended and I died.”

“You didn’t die, Bucky.”

“Should have. Felt like I did. I’m just a ghost now.”

The bed moved as she shifted and turned onto her side. “You’re a POW. And now you’re back. They should throw you a parade.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh at her ridiculous comment. “Ain’t nothing to celebrate.”

“Bet you haven’t celebrated your birthday in years. When we get away from these guys, I’ll bake you a cake. What’s your favorite?”

“Darcy,” he said, closing his eyes and trying not to let his mind slide off to the side and start imagining what she’d said actually being a reality in his future. His future? He’d never considered it.

“When is your birthday?”

Bucky opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t sure, but instead, “March tenth,” came out. He exhaled sharply and closed his eyes.

“I’ll make you a chocolate cake on your birthday. Everybody likes chocolate, right?”

He heart ached so much he wondered if there was something actually wrong with him, some way her words could physically cut through his body. “You and me… We can’t be doing this in March. It’s summer. When is it?”

“July.”

“Year?”

She laughed. “Twenty-fourteen. And we won’t be doing this forever. One day I’m going to talk you into going to your friend Steve. We’ll explain everything; I’ll vouch for you. You’re a good guy, Bucky. And then everything will be better. Okay? One day it will be better.”

“You’re an optimist,” he whispered, turning onto his side to face her. “I used to be that way.”

“They didn’t break you. You’re not broken.” Her voice was so clear, so sure, so confident that he almost believed her.

“You’ll understand when you read those cards,” he said.

“Did you leave them in your pants on the floor?”

“Yes. Do you want them?”

She shook her head. He heard her move and then felt her palm on his bare chest. “You can tell me if you want me to know.”

Bucky laid his right hand over hers and pressed her delicate fingers more firmly against his chest. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered back.

That’s what she thought now; he knew she was being honest. She didn’t know everything though. _He_ didn’t know everything, and he still wished he could escape his filthy body. She deserved to know who she was in bed with, who she was touching. Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you what I remember.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy was both heartbroken and murderous. She’d never really felt murderous before, so it was an interesting experience. The closest she’d come was when her first roommate in freshman year had spilled cranberry juice and vodka on Darcy’s great grandmother’s afghan she’d brought with her even after her father had told her to leave it at home. Now, though, she wanted to kill those men who had experimented on and used the man next to her. They’d done it for years, for _decades_ , and they deserved slow painful deaths. Revenge so cold it felt like fire sat in the back of her mind.

He was still holding back. He would begin to say something and stop himself, cut himself off before the truth could trip off his lips. She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to know enough to ask him to finish what he’d started. He’d already told her about the shock of going to war, about how he’d been a sniper, about how they’d been captured. He’d only skimmed over his first time in captivity, saying there were holes, missing pieces still misplaced in his brain. He told her how Steve had saved him and the surprise at seeing his childhood friend as something other than the skinny, sickly boy who was full of piss and vinegar and fire. He’d told her it was easier than she’d think to get over the physical change in Steve because the person underneath hadn’t changed one bit.

The train ride and the fall were also memories he lingered on, relaying them in startling detail, painting the scene with his words that were at times robotic and at other times choking with emotion. Darcy hadn’t taken her hand off his chest as they lied there in the bed on their sides. His skin was warm—warmer than normal, like he had a fever. He didn’t, though. She suspected it was the serum he’d told her he’d been injected with.

His time with HYDRA was something he seemed uncomfortable discussing, but he’d shared much of it with her. He seemed to think his admissions of assassinating people would send her out the door, but she could only hear the voice of a survivor. He’d been erased or suppressed and indoctrinated. He’d been turned into an unthinking machine made to follow orders, a dangerous weapon made to kill the most difficult targets. It was the last target that had broken through the programming and sent him fleeing, even when he wasn’t sure exactly why.

“You’re quiet,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand on his chest.

“Just listening,” Darcy replied, sliding her hand up to his collarbone. He pulled his hand away from hers, like he thought she was trying to get away from him. When she didn’t, he sighed and she felt the tension in his body relax slightly. “None of what you told me changes anything, you know.”

“It should.”

“But it doesn’t. You’re not the bad guy here, Bucky. Look, you carjacked me at gunpoint and got me wrapped up in a really dangerous situation. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. But even I can see that you’re the victim here. Steve’s your friend. He’ll have an even easier time seeing that.”

He turned over on his back, pulling away from her touch. Darcy let him go, resisting the urge to reach for him. “Steve’s got people to answer to and I don’t think those people are going to be as forgiving,” he told her.

Darcy rolled her eyes and shifted to lie on her back as well. “Didn’t he tell his commanding officers to shove it when he went to look for you during the war? You don’t think he’d tell them to shove it again?”

“Shove it?”

“Shove their orders up their asses,” she said.

He laughed softly and admonished her with a whispered, “Doll.”

“Don’t tell me you disagree. I mean, I knew the general story, but as evidenced by that documentary we watched, Steve Rogers isn’t exactly the type to toe the line and keep his mouth shut. Pretty sure he can’t see injustice and just keep on moving. And you, dude, what was done to you was wrong and not your fault, plain and simple.”

“Like I said before,” he whispered, “you’re a very forgiving person.”

“My enemies wouldn’t say so.”

“What enemies?” he asked.

Darcy chuckled. “I don’t know. I don’t really have enemies.”

This made him laugh again. “Of course you don’t, doll. You’re too sweet.”

“Hey, I’m not sweet. I have never in my life been accused of being sweet.”

Bucky hummed before he said, “You just sweet to me because you feel sorry for me, then?”

She slid her hand across the bed until she felt the smooth metal of his left wrist. The arm made soft whirring noises as the plates clicked into place. Very gently he turned his hand over and fit his fingers between each of hers. The prosthetic was so much like a real hand that holding it didn’t even feel strange. Darcy thought about how he could crush her hand so easily, breaking all the little bones that made up her fingers. And then she thought about how she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d never ever do that, despite everything he’d told her about the past.

“I’m just being sweet to you, period,” she finally answered, dropping off the reason he’d proposed about her feeling sorry for him. She did feel sorry, but it wasn’t really about that. He was capable and didn’t need her to baby him. There was something inside him that spoke to her, though. She’d been feeling lost and hopeless and unhappy. He’d shaken up her life and now she had a direction—helping him figure out where he belonged in her world because now it was his world, too.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he whispered rubbing his thumb along hers.

“You don’t have to say anything to it. Let’s talk about what we’re going to do. Let’s make a plan. You and me,” she said, looking up at the dark ceiling of the motel room.


	12. Chapter 12

 

> _“Whenever the light shines and the stillness is shaken and the drug of your smile has gone and left me alone.” - The Afghan Whigs (Night by Candlelight)_

“A plan,” he whispered, sounding unsure about her suggestion. “This is _my_ problem, doll, not yours. I need to find a way to get you back to your life because I wrecked it.”

Darcy felt a twinge of anxiety at his words and was only a little surprised to realize the worry stemmed not from the danger, but the fear of going back to her life before he came into it. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the cube she’d been working in filled with memos and emails and people who were so self-involved they had no clue what kind of shit was actually happening in the world. It was like The Matrix and she’d been eating the blue pills. Bucky was a red pill, and she didn't want to to go back now that she remembered how the red pill set her free.

“No,” Darcy said, “I don’t want to go back.”

“What?” he said, his fingers tightening, squeezing her hand gently.

“I tried to be a working stiff, but I was dying. I can’t go back. I’m in this with you. How are you going to put me back in my old life when they know who I am?”

“You sound like you wanted this. This isn’t a game; this is life or death.”

“I know it is. Believe me; I know. I can’t go back and you know it.”

“If I’m dead, they won’t have a reason to track you.”

She almost pulled away from him when she heard what he’d said. Her mind recoiled and reeled. “ _What_? No. No fucking way, dude.” Her voice was raised and panicked.

“Shh, not so loud, Darcy,” he said, hushing her.

“What did you expect when you say crazy shit like that?”

His thumb rubbed up and down hers again. “Why do you care what happens to me?”

“Uh, because I care about you.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but those have been some pretty intense days. I’m not letting you do something dumb like kill yourself or go on some suicide mission. You’re better than that.”

“I’m not, though,” he whispered.

“You’re pissing me off now,” she muttered, biting her lower lip to keep from saying more.

Bucky laughed softly and squeezed her hand again. “You care too much, doll. I think maybe you got me all wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m a killer. I think you might have got all turned around with me because you think I saved you.”

Darcy picked up their entwined hands and smacked the back of her hers against his cheek before letting their hands fall on the mattress between their bodies.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For being an asshole. You’re over there talking about how you’re still all jumbled up from what you’ve gone through over the past few days. And then you have the balls to tell me that I’m all jumbled up. Well, fuck you, dude. I know my mind. Don’t you think I’ve thought about feeling this way because you’ve saved me more than once? I have. Look, I’m grateful, but despite your hero ways, I still like you.”

The silence stretched between them for several long seconds before he said, “You sound crazy.”

Darcy huffed out a breath of laughter and then surrendered to the giggles bubbling up her throat. “I do. I do sound crazy, don’t I? But I’m not.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just too nice,” he said. She could hear the smile pulling his lips up.

“You could use a little nice in your life.”

“I could. Ain’t had much in a while.”

Darcy smiled up at the ceiling. “Well, here I am to make up for that.”

“Fate, huh?” he teased.

“Absolutely, dude. I’m the welcome committee back to real life.” Darcy squeezed his hand before he could reply and added, “What you were living wasn’t real life. It was some crazy dream that you were an unwilling participant in. This right here is real life.”

“I disagree, but I don’t like to argue with you.”

“Why?” she asked. “Because I always win?”

“Don’t sass me, doll.” The warning was filled with warmth that she didn’t often hear from him. It soothed the ache in her chest.

Darcy shifted a little closer to him and said, “So, what’s our plan? Where to next? Getting out of the country will be hard without a passport. I mean, we could probably head north to Canada or south to Mexico and get through without a passport if we stay away from the checkpoints. Mexico would probably be better. More people, fewer cameras.”

“Darcy,” he said.

“What? We could be beach bums.”

“You’re not leaving everything for me,” he told her.

“Temporary. It’ll just be temporary.”

“Temporary until when?”

“Until I can talk you into going to your friend Steve,” she said.

He sighed. “You’re stubborn.”

“I’m realistic. It’s the only way we’re getting out of this. It’s the only way you’re going to be able to stop running.”

“And you think he’d hear me out?”

“I know he would.” She paused and then said, “You do, too. Don’t lie.”

Bucky shifted and sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I… I don’t want to face him, though. I ain’t the person he knew.”

“So? Maybe he isn’t the same person either. People change.”

“Don’t want him to be ashamed of me,” he said under his breath.

“He won’t be. You saved his life. You said you pulled him from the water.” Her words made him tense up, and Darcy wondered if he was remembering the moment she’d mentioned. “Where were you just now?” she whispered.

He gave a heavy sigh. “Just remembering. My mind was just… static and busy and empty when I pulled him out of the water.” Bucky gave a humorless laugh. “Does that even make sense?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Now that I know who I am and what had happened… I’m ashamed I left him there. He was out cold, couldn’t defend himself. I should have stayed.”

“You might have been caught by us or them.”

“Who is us?”

She chewed on her lips as she thought about how to answer the question. “I don’t know. Us. The people who were fighting with Captain America to bring down the helicarriers.”

“Ain’t that who you’re trying to get me to turn myself into?”

“ _No_. I’m trying to get you to call your friend Steve and explain yourself and ask him for help.” When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Or we could go to some beach on the west coast of Mexico and drink margaritas until you get over your hang-ups. Honestly, I’m warming to plan B. I could use a vacation.”

Bucky didn’t reply immediately. They lied in the bed and listened to the air conditioner rattle as it struggled to cool the room. Finally, he said, “How would we do it?”

“Do what? Get to Mexico?”

“Contact Steve.”

She felt a rush of victory that mixed with a wave of disappointment. No beach vacation with him in her future. Maybe he was trying to find a way to get rid of her. “When I talked to Jane during my really stupid phone call, I told her to find a way to reach him. She’s our link.”

“What makes you think she can find him?”

Darcy smiled at the ceiling. “You don’t know Jane. She’s a force of nature. She’ll find him _and_ she’ll make him listen. So, you tell me how we get to Jane without tipping them off.”

“Phone call is out of the question,” Bucky said.

“I can’t text since I tossed my phone. We could buy a burner phone. I could email.”

“What’s an email?”

She chuckled and squeezed his hand. “Electronic letter. We could go to a library or an internet cafe or something.”

“Can it be tracked? They might be monitoring her communications.”

“Fuck. Yes, it can be tracked. What if I send some cryptic message?” Darcy lifted their hands up as she had a thought. “Ooh, what if I use an old email account that I haven’t used in years? I’ve never used it to email her. They wouldn’t know it was me.”

“They could be monitoring it. If they see her making plans with someone to meet–”

“Boo,” Darcy said, pushing out her lower lip. “Okay, so… I send an email and… and I tell her to call me.”

“Where? Not here. They’d track the phone number back to this motel,” he said. “Not a cell phone, even a temporary one.

She grinned at the ceiling. “No, I’ll tell her to call our payphone.”

“What payphone?”

“Our payphone in Puente Antiguo. We worked there for a few months a while back. They have terrible cell service in the middle of nowhere so we used the payphone near her equipment to order dinner sometimes instead of running back to the house we rented.”

“And how will she remember the number?” he questioned. “If you tell her the number, they’ll run it.”

“Oh, she’ll remember. We used it a lot. I still remember it and her brain is like a bear trap. No info escapes.” She paused and brought their hands up to her chest. He let her pull him closer. “If we can work it out, will you come? Do you trust Steve?”

“Of course I trust Steve.”

“Good,” she said. “I bet he’s worried about you.”

 

* * *

 

 

She carefully crafted the email under extreme stress as she sat in the public library. Half her mind was trying to figure out a way to word things that would hit home with Jane, but not raise flags if someone were reading her friend’s emails. The other half was worried about Bucky Barnes out in the orange compact SUV he’d stolen from a residential neighborhood a couple miles from the interstate.

**_Hey dude! Remember me? We haven’t talked in ages. You should call me. My cell died, so don’t bother with it until I get it replaced. I think you still have my landline, though. I’m working nights, so try me around 4 or 5 in the morning if you’re still up doing the astronomy thing. I’ve been thinking about all those nights we ordered pizza while we looked up at the stars. Good times. Hit me up so we can reminisce. Don’t try to drop by or anything, though, especially with your friend Roger. Things are a little hairy with my roommate and I don’t know that they’ll get along since they have a history and all. Don’t want to mess up a good thing.  
Cate Morland_ **

She had racked her brain for a name that would tip Jane off if nothing else in the email did. She had smiled as she’d typed a shortened version of one of her favorite characters from a Jane Austen novel she and Jane had read during a particularly boring week in Puente Antiguo. The name would give her away, but only to Jane.

She hit send from her old Yahoo account that she hadn't logged into in years. It had been a miracle that she’d remembered the password. After the message was sent, Darcy logged out and hurried to the exit. The SUV was idling by the door, facing out toward the road. Bucky looked about as relieved as she felt when she opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat. He was pulling out of the parking lot before she’d even fastened her seatbelt.

“Being out in the day when someone might see us makes me nervous,” he muttered, pulling the baseball cap low over his eyes. His hair was tucked behind his ears and pressed against the back of his neck.

“Sorry. Library closes before dark.” She paused and licked her lips. “Do you think we could stop and get something to eat once we’re a couple hours away from town?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Can we… can we get a Coca-Cola again?”

Darcy smiled over at him, but he was intent on navigating toward the entrance ramp for the highway. The town they’d stopped in was small and they stuck out like sore thumbs with the locals. “Of course. Coca-Cola and burgers and fries. The best food for road trips.”

“Are you sure the email won’t tip them off?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don’t think they’ll be able to put the pieces together. No one could except Jane. She’s smart. She’ll be careful. Plus, her boyfriend is Thor. He’s… he’s pretty scary if someone is threatening her.”

“Thor,” Bucky repeated. “Like the god?”

“Yep. I think I told you that.”

He glanced over at her. “Yeah, but… I thought you were joking. I didn’t… Who _are_ you anyway?”

“Your partner in crime,” she replied with a grin. “Darcy Lewis. Nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes.”

He shook his head and focused on the road. She just settled back in her seat and sighed with no small amount of relief that all they had to do now was drive the seven hours to Puente Antiguo and wait for Jane’s call. They could have seven hours of peace before she needed to deal with her jangling nerves again.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky could eat five burgers, but she’d only bought him two. He didn’t want to be greedy and ask for more, even if he wished he could gorge himself on the flavorful food. The hollow sound of sucking in air through the straw with the last of the Coca-Cola broke the silence in the car.

She took a long drag from her cup before holding it out to him. “Go on,” she said, “take it. I’m done.”

“I can’t, doll.”

“What? I don’t have any cooties. You’ve drunk after me before.”

“Cooties?”

His question made her laugh. It was the perfect combination of pretty and sexy. “Germs. It’s what I used to say boys had when I was seven and hadn’t realized how great boys could be.”

“Ah,” he said, taking the cup from her. He was hyper-aware of the fact that her pink lips and probably even her tongue had touched the straw right where his lips were. Bucky closed his eyes and tried not to think about her and all the things that made him want to tell her they should do option B, that he wanted to run away with her to Mexico and hide until the world forgot he existed. It would take years, maybe decades. Or maybe it would never happen. That would be okay if he could spend that time with her.

Bucky opened his eyes and shook the thoughts from his mind. They were selfish and dangerous. This wasn't about what he wanted. This was about what was best for her and everyone else.

“Where did you go?” she asked, eating the last of her fries.

She’d taken to asking him that when she felt like he'd gotten lost in the past with a memory. This time she was wrong, though. He'd been lost in a future that would never happen. It was a nice future with a little house by the beach and waking up to her every morning. It was also selfish and unattainable, and that made his heart ache.

“Just thinking about the future.”

“I'm anxious over the phone call. Do you think it's dangerous for us to wait there at the phone?”

He finished her drink and helped her gather the trash from their meal while he said, “We'll see when we get there. Play it by ear.”

“Are you worried about Cap?”

“No.”

“That’s not what you’ve been saying,” she said.

Bucky started the car and pulled out into traffic. “The punk probably blames himself for everything. He’ll have my back.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t really wanna see him. I’ve done a lot of things I’m ain’t proud of and… I don’t wanna let him down. Don’t want him to see this side of me even if he says he don’t care.”

She opened her mouth when he glanced over at her but closed it before saying anything. He glanced over again as he pulled onto the highway and saw that she had her lips pressed together and her brows furrowed in thought.

“What?” he prompted.

Darcy sighed and said, “I just assumed you thought he’d throw you in jail. I didn’t… I didn’t really think of the way you felt about seeing him.”

He shrugged and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. Her kindness made him feel like shit sometimes. He didn’t deserve half of what she gave him, nor did he deserve all that effort she put into trying to understand him.

“Look,” she said, shifting in her seat so she could turn her body toward him, “I know I can’t tell you what to feel or anything, but… but I think you shouldn’t beat yourself up too much about these things you’ve done that you’re ashamed of. I mean, you weren’t you. You… hell, you didn’t figure out your name and your past until a day or two after we met. Those things aren’t on you.”

“Yeah, but I did them.”

“Like, look at it as someone taking over your body and doing things with it that you can’t control. That’s what it sounds like to me. Yeah, yeah, I don’t know everything. You told me a lot, but I know you still held bac–”

 

“I held back because I don’t want you to hate me,” he said, interrupting her.

“How could I hate you? _They_ did those things with your body, not you. There’s a difference.”

He pressed the gas pedal down, accelerating to pass a large truck. “I’ve killed children. I fought and killed a boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen before they started sending me out on missions. I… I’ve killed kids— _kids_ —after I killed their parents because I was told to leave no witnesses.” His throat closed up and he gasped for air as he remembered wrapping the unforgiving fingers of his left hand around the throat of a little boy who had been no more than seven years old. The boy had stopped struggling after only a couple seconds, not because he’d strangled him, but because the strength of the cybernetic appendage had broken his neck. He’d felt like a little bird, flailing for life and then gone.

Bucky groaned and reached for his head as his vision went black. When he came to, he saw her hand on the steering wheel right next to his metal one. He’d held her—touched her—with a hand he’d used to break the neck of an innocent little boy. Why did he even deserve to live?

“What happened?” he asked, pulling in a ragged breath.

“You went into your mind again. I grabbed the wheel just in case. Are you okay?” She was leaning over the console and shifting her gaze from the road to his face.

He nodded and swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth. He’d nearly thrown up a moment before. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Reluctantly, she released her hold on the wheel and settled back into the passenger seat. “Hey, Bucky,” she said, “I know you’re not proud of the things they made you do, but those things weren’t a choice. Right?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I… I remember them. I remember being ordered to do everything I did. I remember never questioning the orders. I remember all of it or almost all of it.”

“Okay. But?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember being myself. I did those things and I did it knowing what I was doing even if I didn’t know why. It’s not like I blacked out and can’t remember. I _remember_. I just don’t remember _me_.”

She nodded. “Okay. You remember the act, but you don’t remember your thought process.”

“I wouldn’t have killed a kid. I wouldn’t have. That ain’t me. Right?”

“Right,” she agreed without a second thought. She’d known him for a handful of days and here she was so willing to vouch for him. “Look, I’m not some psychologist or neurologist or whatever is appropriate here, but… but it sounds like they removed your personality and left your mind intact. They needed someone who could fight and shoot and make logical decisions on a mission. They didn’t want a robot because a program can’t react to real life situations like a person can. So… so they left your mind there, but removed everything about it that made you _you_.”

He shook his head even if he didn't disagree with her because he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what she was saying. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well, me neither. What they did to you was worse… worse than… I don’t know what. It was _bad_ , Bucky. And it was against your will.” She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, which made her pull her hand back like he’d burned her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, doll. I just… touching is hard.”

“We touch in the dark.”

“It’s different. It’s safe. Sometimes I feel like if it’s dark then I can pretend like none of this is happening and I’m just in… in a void or something. With you.” The only tolerable memories he had of the long process of conditioning him were in the pitch black cell. That was where he found relief between beatings or forced fights to the death or medical procedures or injections of drugs that sometimes made his head spin and other times sent him into a manic rage that ended in sickness and a puddle of vomit in the corner of the room.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I forgot.”

“Don’t apologize, doll. It’s my fault, not yours.”

“It’s not your fault either,” she whispered. “I hope you understand that one day.”


	13. Chapter 13

 

> _“Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again. And you were just gone and gone and gone.” - Ryan Adams (This Love)_

They were parked across the street from the phone. Bucky was in a very strange mood. He’d slipped back into the quiet, stoic persona that she’d met in the parking lot when he’d first introduced himself by slipping into her car with a gun. It seemed to be his way to dealing with the stress and pressure of a life or death situation. Except, it wasn’t really a life or death situation. At least not yet.

They were waiting in a dark green sedan, staring at the payphone that had become so familiar to Darcy during her time in New Mexico. It was located around the side of a run-down convenience store at the edge of town. Beyond it was just a flat and unending mesa of dust and tumbleweeds and scraggly bushes trying to exist in an environment not very hospitable to plants.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Jane is the smartest person I know. She’ll understand my message and she’ll take precautions.”

Without a word, he opened the door and got out. She watched as he quietly closed it and walked to the back of the car, scanning the area for danger, turning his head to listen to the sounds out here on the edge of the desert. She watched him through the back window and then glanced at her watch. She’d told Jane four or five in the morning. For a moment Darcy worried that Jane would take that to mean four or five her time, not Darcy’s time. And then she remembered what she’d just told Bucky. Jane is the smartest person she knows. Of course, Jane would think through that kind of thing.

It was five minutes until four, and Darcy’s stomach was in knots. She pushed open her door and stepped around to stand beside Bucky at the back of the car. “Talk to me,” she whispered.

Her request seemed to break through whatever was occupying his mind because he looked down at her and she could see how lost he felt in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered back.

“Are we safe? Do you see or hear anything?”

“No. It’s clear.”

Darcy wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I hope she calls in five minutes. I don’t think my nerves can handle waiting until five o’clock.”

“It’ll start getting light, then. People going to work early will be a problem. We’re not very inconspicuous,” he said, resting his ass on the trunk.

Darcy nodded and said, “Yeah.”

They waited like that for ten more minutes before the phone started ringing. Darcy’s heart jumped into her throat and she took a step toward the side of the building where it was affixed. Bucky’s left arm shot out to block her way.

“It’s ringing,” she said, anxiety ramping up as it rang a third time.

He scanned the area again, hand on the gun strapped to his thigh. Finally, he let his arm fall to his side and she ran over to the phone. He was fast on her heels, his long strides allowing him to almost keep up. Darcy got to the phone first and pulled it off the cradle.

“Hello?” she said, her voice breathless and shaky.

“Who is this?” a man’s voice said. “Is this Darcy Lewis?”

Darcy felt her stomach drop into her feet when she heard a man instead of Jane’s familiar voice. “What have you done with her?” she demanded.

“What?” the man said.

“Jane. What have you done?”

“Hold on,” he said. There was a sound of shifting clothes and murmured words that she couldn’t make out.

Darcy looked up at Bucky as he scanned the area again, hand on the butt of the gun. She felt sick. What had happened to Jane? Had they gotten to her?

“Darcy?” Jane’s voice came through the speaker.

“Jane? Oh my god, Jane, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m in California. Are _you_ okay? We left a message on your cell like you said, but you never called back.”

“We who? Who has you?”

Jane sounded confused when she said, “No one has me. You told me to find Steve Rogers, so I found him. Or he found me. That’s who answered. Darcy, what is going on? Are you in danger?”

“Talk fast,” Bucky said.

His murmured order made her glance around their surroundings. “Are they here?” she whispered.

“No, but we don’t want to keep the line open in case they try to trace her calls.”

“Darcy. Darcy! Talk to me!” Jane’s voice was frantic through the phone speaker pressed hard against Darcy’s ear.

“Listen, I don’t have a lot of time,” she told Jane, trying to focus. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Bucky Barnes is with me. He needs to talk to Cap.”

“Steve wants to talk to you. Hold on.”

The phone was silent for a moment before the man’s voice said, “Darcy?”

“Hey. Wow, Cap. I… uh, this is weird, but… I think I found your friend.” She glanced up at Bucky, but he was focused on watching the dark desert around them.

“How is he?” he demanded.

“He’s okay. You need to know it wasn’t him that attacked you on the helicarrier. He survived the fall from the train back in forty-five and was taken by HYDRA. They replaced his busted arm with the metal one, but they also brainwashed him. He’s been working for them for years, but it wasn’t really him. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “yeah, I understand that. I kinda assumed. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s okay. As good as he can be, you know. He’s getting his memories back. HYDRA is after us, though.”

“I’m coming to get you.”

Bucky stiffened and shook his head once at her. “No can do, Cap,” she said.

“I know where you are. The only reason I’m not there is because your friend told me that Bucky might be a danger to himself or others if we showed. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

Darcy put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “He can be here in twenty. He wants to see you, Bucky.” Removing her hand, she said to Steve, “He’s done nothing wrong. He’s saved me. You can’t lock him up.”

“I ain’t locking him up,” Steve said. He was moving. She could hear the rustle of fabric. Even if she told him no, he’d be there in minutes. “Tell him I’m with him. Tell him I’m with him to the end of the line.”

Darcy looked up at Bucky, but she didn’t need to repeat Steve’s message; Bucky had heard him. His jaw clenched and his eyes were rimmed in tears. “Tell him to come on,” Bucky said.

“Hurry,” she whispered into the phone. “We’re at the payphone by the Circle K.”

She settled the receiver on its cradle and looked up at Bucky. His eyes were wide, red, and wet with unshed tears. “How long?” he asked.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Listen, doll, I’m going to go over there,” he said, pointing at a looming warehouse across the street. It had been empty when Darcy worked in the town years ago, and it looked to be that way still.

“Why?” she asked, suppressing the urge to grab his arm and tell him to stay with her.

He stepped closer, almost close enough that their bodies were touching. “I trust Steve with you, but… he’s got people to answer to and a job to do. I ain’t exactly passing any background checks or anything.”

“Bucky, you said you trust him. He sounds worried about you,” she said, the anxiety gnawing at her stomaching and making it hard to breathe.

“I do trust him. That’s why I’m here. I’m just trying to be careful.”

“Careful? How?”

“Just want to see who he’s with when he comes to get me. If it’s just him, then we’re okay. If he’s bringing a team to collar me and bring me in, then…”

The idea of them detaining him by force and locking him up made her sick and filled her with anger at the same time. “No. That’s not what’s going to happen. I won’t let it.” Running a hand through her hair, she said, “Fuck, I should have told him to come alone.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Darcy. We just gotta be safe.”

“So why are you leaving me here all out in the open while you hide?”

He hesitated for a brief moment before he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was the first physical contact he’d initiated outside of the dark hotel rooms or when they were running from men with guns. “I trust him. He wouldn’t hurt you. He’ll keep you safe.”

“And you.”

“Sure,” he murmured, letting his fingers linger behind her ear, caressing her lobe and the soft skin behind it. “I just want to make sure they don’t have other plans for me, maybe even plans that Steve don’t know about.”

She reached up and pressed his warm palm flat against her neck. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, you can watch them come in. I’ll talk to Steve and tell him that you’re okay and you’re not dangerous.”

“I _am_ dangerous.”

She leaned into his touch. “Only to bad people.”

He smiled down at her and the tilt of his head allowed a tear to trail down his cheek into the beard he’d started to grow over the past few days. “Thanks for saying that, doll. It means a lot.”

“It’s the truth. You don’t have to thank me for giving you facts,” she said.

He shook his head at her, but the bittersweet smile was still on his lips.

“I’ll… I’ll signal you if it’s okay. After I talk to Steve and tell him that you aren’t going to hurt anyone and that you were just brainwashed, after that, I’ll signal you. What do I do? Whistle? Wave?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard and stroked the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. With his free hand, he reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a slim, metal flashlight not that much bigger than a pen. Carefully, he reached around tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. His hand didn’t wander, didn’t pull her closer like she wanted. “Use the flashlight I found in the car to signal me. Three flashes. Can you do that?”

She nodded, curling her fingers around his hand on her neck. “I’m a little scared,” she confessed in a whisper.

“Yeah,” he replied, “me too. You’ll be okay.”

“ _We’ll_ be okay.” She smiled and said, “Hey, if you think those nasty McDonald’s burgers were good, wait until you have a real burger that has flavor. There’s this little place in D.C. that serves the best burgers and fries. Shakes, too. Do you like milkshakes?”

Bucky smiled, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Who doesn’t like milkshakes?”

“We should go. After you convince everyone that you’re cool and not going to go all HYDRA on them.”

“You wanna see me after all this, doll?”

“Hell, yeah. Don’t be crazy.”

He nodded and said, “Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Darcy. I know there were times when I was scary and you could have run, but it means a lot that you stuck around. I don’t think I’d have been able to get through this without you.”

His soft-spoken words and the sincerity in his eyes made her own well up with tears. She sniffed and tried to smile up at him. “Don’t act like this is goodbye. I’m not letting your buddy Steve whisk you away so I never see you again. We’re in this together.” She paused and said, “Unless I’m starting to get on your nerves. Jane says–”

“No, you’re not… You’re perfect. It’s a shame you and I couldn’t have gone with plan B in Mexico.”

She blinked and the tears rolled down her cheeks. She sniffed again and laughed at his comment. “You think the salt water would rust your arm?”

He gave her a strained smile. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“Hey,” she whispered, squeezing his hand before turning her head to the side so she could press a lingering kiss on his palm. “Thanks for knocking me out of my stupor and waking me up again. I don’t think I’m cut out for the nine to five.”

“No thanks needed, doll. You’ve saved my life.” His eyes looked so sad as he gazed down into hers. She opened her mouth to reply, but it never made it past her lips before he’d dipped his head down and brushed his warm mouth against hers. Darcy exhaled a ragged breath and lifted her chin up just enough to make the promise of a kiss an actual one.

It was tentative at first, all soft lips with his thumb stroking her cheek. When she parted her lips to touch his with her tongue, the kiss morphed into something more urgent. She heard the whir of his left arm only a moment before he cupped her other jaw with the metal hand. Darcy sighed as he held her face gently. He tilted his head to the side and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Grabbing onto his wrists, she moaned and tried to press herself against him.

Just as soon as it had begun, it was over. He released her and stumbled back two steps, his eyes wide and his parted lips swollen and wet. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, looking dumbstruck and confused.

He took long strides toward the warehouse while Darcy pressed her fingertips to her lips as she considered the kiss. It took her a few seconds to regain her wits and run after him. “Bucky, what are you–”

Turning around he held up a flashlight just like the one he’d given her. “There were two in the car,” he said. “You flash yours toward the warehouse three times if everything is okay, if it’s safe. I’ll flash back that I got your message.”

She nodded, her mind still on his lips and tongue and the warmth of his body when it had been so close to hers. It was just stress, she tried to tell herself. Don’t get all flustered over this perfectly gorgeous, perfectly sweet man when he’s just slipping you tongue because you’re both under a lot of fucking stress, she thought. “Three times,” she repeated.

“I’ll flash three times that I got your message,” he repeated to her, holding up the other flashlight again.

“Wait, how’d you know these were in the car?”

“I look through every car before we take it,” he said.

“Why?”

“Need to know what I have at my disposal. Three times, Darcy. Let me know you’re okay.”

“Okay,” she said.

He turned to walk away and stopped, his shoulders tense. She watched him slowly turn back around. “Be careful, doll. Do what Steve says and be careful.”

“ _You_ be careful. I’ll see you in a few minutes. You’ll see; it’ll be fine.”

He nodded once before turning and jogging away. When he got past the light on the corner of the street, she couldn’t make him out any longer. With her stomach in knots, she walked back to the payphone and waited for the cavalry to arrive with her flashlight in hand.

It took seven long minutes that felt like two hours before the wind picked up and a nearly-silent jet appeared from the dark sky about a quarter of a mile out on the mesa. Two figures walked down the ramp that had lowered. One of them took up a position at the end of the ramp and the other ran toward her. She wondered if it was Captain America and then realized that was a stupid thing to wonder since he was big and fast.

Darcy glanced over at the dark warehouse and wondered where Bucky was and what he was thinking now that he was so close to his friend.

“Darcy?” Captain America was standing not two yards from her, hands on his hips.

“Hi, Cap.”

“Steve,” he said. “Where is he?”

“He just wants to be safe. He wanted to make sure you weren’t going to turn him in.”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve said, turning to look around him. “It’s just me and Nat. I didn’t bring anyone else. I know what happened to him. I guessed before you even called.” He turned back to Darcy. “I’m here to help. Tell him I’m here to help.”

“If you hurt him or cuff him or lock him up, then I’ll kill you myself,” she said, trying to give Captain America the meanest look she had in her.

He looked dumbfounded. “I’m not. I want to help. I shouldn’t have left him behind.”

Darcy pulled in a deep breath and held up her flashlight, pointing it at the warehouse. She pressed the button again and again until it has flashed three times. Steve’s eyes cut to the warehouse just as soon as three flashes answered back from the third story of the building on the far end. “He’s coming,” she told Steve. “He’s still remembering things, so take it easy on him. And… and he’s not a fan of touching, so you might want to hold off on hugs and handshakes.”

Steve watched the warehouse as the seconds ticked by. How long would it take Bucky to return? What would happen between him and Steve when he did?

“Hey, Cap,” she said, watching him pace in front of her.

“Steve,” he said, correcting her a second time.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Hey, _Steve_. He’s not a hundred percent. He’s been through a lot for a long-ass time.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve asked. “You think I don’t know that I left him behind?”

“You thought he was dead,” Darcy said. “Everybody did.”

“Those experiments Zola did, they must have helped him survive.” He looked over at the warehouse. “Where _is_ he?”

Darcy was wondering the same thing as she tried not to worry. “He’s coming. He’s just being careful.”

“Buck!” Steve called out, walking into the street toward the warehouse. “Buck, it’s just me. I know that wasn’t you on the helicarrier. I know it wasn’t you that went after Fury. You ain’t gotta worry about anything. I’ll vouch for you.”

The silence that answered made Darcy’s stomach turn over and made a thought she didn’t want to have started to take root in the back of her mind.

“Buck, come on! You have my word. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry.” Steve was standing in the street with his arms out at his sides to show he wasn’t armed.

“No, no, no,” Darcy whispered, taking two steps back until she hit the building.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled once more.

“He left,” Darcy said more to herself than anyone else.

Steve turned around and walked back over to her. “What did you say?” he asked.

Darcy felt the sting in her sinuses that foretold tears. The wetness was already gathering, threatening to tip over her lower lids. “Bucky!” she screamed at the warehouse. “Bucky!”

She stepped forward and Steve moved aside to let her pass. She held out her hand to keep him from reaching and pulling her back as she stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the street.

“Bucky!” Darcy screamed again. “Bucky, please!”

She looked down to find an arm around her midsection, holding her back. When she lifted her gaze, she saw it belonged to Captain America. What kind of world did she live in that she routinely got mixed up with these superhero types? “What happened?” Steve asked, eyes wild.

“He left,” she said again, her voice breaking as the hot tears tracked down her cheeks. “That fucker left. He… he tricked me. He was never going to turn himself in to you.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress a sob as she threw the flashlight he’d given her against the side of the warehouse. The aluminum clanged against the sheet metal there. “He left me,” she said. “He left me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy had sat in the car with a very intimidating woman named Natasha while Steve had searched the warehouse. There was no sign of Bucky Barnes nor any hint as to where he’d gone. Darcy had insisted on driving around the town, shining the headlights of the car down dark alleys and dead-end streets. Natasha allowed it, watching silently as Darcy sniffed and wiped away the salty tears on her cheeks as she muttered under her breath about how she was going to kill him when she found him.

She never found him, of course. Hopelessness and emptiness had set in, so it had been easy for Steve to convince her to board the jet and let them take her away from Puente Antiguo and all the heartache she’d found there. Darcy couldn’t stop replaying their final conversation in those frantic minutes before Steve arrived and ended her little Bonnie and Clyde fantasy with Bucky Barnes. The flight to New York was silent and tense and so very sad.

Now that the three of them were walking down the ramp to the landing pad, she could see the tension in Steve’s shoulders. He’d not said much to her or Natasha since they’d left New Mexico, and it wasn’t until that moment Darcy realized he was hurting, too. She thought about the history between him and Bucky, and that started the waterworks again. Darcy growled in frustration as she swiped her hand angrily over her face.

Steve glanced back to watch her. “You okay?” he asked.

Darcy laughed and adjusted the duffle bag on her shoulder. “Hunky-dory,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Here,” he said, reaching out as she passed him and snagging the strap of the duffle, “let me help you.”

She sighed and let him take the bag. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just… pissed off.”

“I can tell,” he said.

“And sad.”

He nodded and followed her down the rest of the ramp.

“You’re pissed off and sad, too, aren’t you?” Darcy asked.

Steve chuckled under his breath and nodded, eyes on the ground. “Yeah. I’m both those things, too.”

They entered a door and started down a flight of stairs. Darcy paused on the first landing and said, “He trusted you. He didn’t leave because he was afraid you’d lock him up.”

Steve had stopped in his tracks, his shoulders bunched up. “Then why’d he leave?”

“He was ashamed, I think. I mean, that’s what he told me, and I believe him. He said he did a lot of really bad things. He didn’t want you to think less of him.”

“I don’t. I don’t think less of him,” Steve said, his back still to her.

Darcy nodded. “Yeah, I know. That’s what I told him. Maybe he’ll believe me one day.”

Steve pushed open a door and led her down a long hallway. “Do you have any idea where he might go?” he asked.

She’d been thinking about that question all the way to New York, but couldn’t come up with an answer that seemed viable. He could be going anywhere. “Nope. I wish I did.”

The door at the end of the hall opened up into a lounge. There was a large table with ten chairs to the left and a sitting area with a couch and several oversized armchairs to the right. “You need to be debriefed, not just about Bucky, but about HYDRA,” Steve said.

“Am I safe? Are they still after me?”

“I don’t know.” He turned around to look at her for the first time since the moment on the ramp. “Honestly, yes. They’re probably still looking for you. We’re trying to clean up what happened, but things are a little sideways now that everyone’s dirty laundry is out there. Politics are taking priority when they shouldn’t be.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

Steve sat the duffle on the back of the couch. “Relax here for a minute. I’ll be back soon. We’ll debrief and find you a place to stay where you’re safe.”

“Can I see Jane?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell her where to find you. She’s in California so it might take her some time.” Steve took two steps toward the door before he turned around. “You’re safe here, okay?”

Darcy nodded. “Okay.”

He looked at the floor, hands on hips, and then he looked back up at her. “How was he really?”

“He was hurt—not physically, mentally—and confused, especially at first. He started remembering a lot of stuff really fast. I think that was tough for him. And he feels bad about everything he’s done. He… he feels ashamed even though I told him he shouldn’t be because that wasn’t him. They did a lot of bad things to him, Steve.”

His mouth was a grim line that spoke of anger, but his eyes were softer and very sad. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “Try to relax. You’re safe.”

The door clicked shut after him, leaving her alone in the large room. Darcy walked around the table and then went to look out one of the windows. It was mid-day and the sun was high in the sky. She hadn’t seen this time of day for a long time, not since Bucky had swiped her from her life and turned everything upside down.

She ended up standing behind the couch in front of the duffle bag that had housed her life for the past few days. Carefully, she unzipped it and pulled out the last shirt he’d worn. There was a smear of blood on the collar and sleeve. She avoided that area and pressed the middle of the fabric against her nose, inhaling his scent. It felt creepy and wrong, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

After a few seconds of scent induced memories that involved holding hands in bed and the way his lips felt on hers before he’d left, she balled the shirt up so she could shove it back into the duffle. A bright white something caught her eye in the mess of clothes. Darcy let the shirt fall onto the back of the couch as she pulled a folded index card from the bag.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded it and read the message written in all capital letters with a shaky pen.

**_Darcy–_ **

**_I care about you too much to make you live like this. Steve will take care of you. He’s a good guy. I'm sorry, doll. Please forget about me._ **

She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear splashed onto the notecard, smearing the ink. Forget about him. Darcy gave a bitter, broken laugh as she said, “Not a chance of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::peeks over the edge of the desk:: Sorry, dear readers. It had to be done. You'll see Bucky again tomorrow, but Darcy won't see him again for about two years. Don't worry; these two will get their happy ending one way or another. I promise.
> 
> Now is a good time to thank [ChocolateGate](https://chocolategate.tumblr.com/) and [Bulmaveg Otaku](http://bulmavegotaku.tumblr.com/) for their knowledge and help as amazing betas. And also a good time to thank you for reading this. I'd love to hear what you think. See you tomorrow!


	14. Chapter 14

 

> _“It’s been two years, I keep calling. I’m standing here and I ain’t got you. As we lay here, lovers in arms. I can feel your fear, can this love be true?” - Lyves (No Love)_

“I’m not signing it. I _can’t_ sign it. I–”

“Steve,” Darcy said, holding up her hand, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it. If I were in your shoes, I don’t think I’d sign it either.”

“Governments have agendas and agendas change,” he said, standing in front of her desk with his arms crossed over his chest. It made him look intimidating, but Darcy wasn’t fooled. Steve was genuinely the nicest guy she’d ever met in her life. They might have started out on shaky ground, but over the past two years, she and Steve had become good friends.

She leaned forward and propped her head up with her chin in the palm of her hand. “I’d trust your judgment over our government any day of the week,” she told him.

Steve sighed and dropped down into one of the chairs across from her. Darcy’s office didn’t have windows, but that was probably because her job wasn’t exactly glamorous. She did whatever needed to be done to keep the Avengers under control and happy. That usually included stocking snacks in the kitchen of their upstate New York facility, fielding requests for interviews and appearances, and lightening the mood when it needed to be lightened. She also had her own little side project, but the only person who knew anything about it was the guy sitting across from her.

Things were tense lately. The incident in Lagos had sent Wanda into a depression, and Darcy could see the toll it had taken on Steve, Sam, and Natasha, too. The way Tony had shown up with Secretary Ross and basically blindsided the others with the Sokovia Accords as if there wasn’t even a question that they’d all sign it--well, that was just shitty in her opinion. Darcy would have given Tony Stark a piece of her mind if the asshole would stay in one place long enough. Since his breakup with Pepper, he was a workaholic, flying here and there and barely coming out of his lab at the top of Avengers Tower. Her emails to him went unanswered more often than not. She’d felt sorry for him and also worried about him until he’d started rocking the boat with the Accords.

“I don’t like that it’s a registry. I mean, since when has it ever been a good idea to make people of certain ethnicities or religions or whatever register, right? I don’t like that shit at all, Cap.”

“Steve,” reminded her out of habit.

Darcy had taken to teasing him by calling him Cap in private moments. It irritated him, but not enough for him to ever get mad at her. “So, what are you going to do? Didn’t Ross say not signing was your resignation? You resigning, Steve?”

“You know I can’t do that.” He said, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing one ankle over the other.

“Then what are you going to do?”

Steve shrugged. “Fly to London for Peggy’s funeral.”

He’d just found out a few minutes before that she’d passed away. He’d dropped by to tell Darcy he was leaving but ended up pacing her office and talking about the Accords instead. She pushed out her bottom lip in a pout. “Seriously, Steve, are you okay?”

He shrugged again. “Fine.”

“Steve,” Darcy said, a warning in her voice.

“She lived a long life. The last time I saw her she forgot who I was halfway through the conversation. She’s been under nursing care for months. That ain’t no kinda life. You know?”

“Yeah, I know. But it still hurts, right?”

He flashed her that bittersweet little smile. “Yeah, Darcy, it still hurts.”

“I’ll make you a blueberry pie when you get back if that will make you feel any better.”

“You know it will.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy had a little apartment in a four-story building within sight of the Avengers upstate facility. A good portion of the civilian staff lived there because there wasn’t much else around. The nearest town was a thirty-minute drive away through winding roads that tended to get icy in the winter. It was summer now, and she enjoyed walking the quarter of a mile between the apartment and the main building. It was really the only time she could get out and enjoy the fresh air without looking over her shoulder and worrying that some HYDRA operative would grab her and hold her hostage because of some misguided idea that Bucky Barnes gave two shits about her.

She hadn’t heard one word from him since he’d disappeared back in Puente Antiguo almost two years ago. For the first few weeks she’d waited for a letter or a phone call or visit, and then she’d worried that he didn’t know how to contact her now that she was in the Avengers’ fold. The worry morphed into bitterness as she realized that he probably wasn’t even trying to find her because he didn’t care enough to do so.

Darcy had ventured into town after six months of anxiety and fear during which she’d kept herself sequestered in a safe house and then the New York compound, but she’d only done so with a group of people that included Steve Rogers. Nowadays, he often accompanied her when she went out, and he did so without her even having to ask. Steve was good like that; he just knew. After a year had passed, she had ventured out on her own for a coffee and lunch alone. Nowadays, she made sure to carry her Taser on her person and watch her back when she went out. HYDRA had gone far underground, and most of their operatives were in other countries. Besides, they probably knew their precious Winter Soldier couldn’t be gotten through her.

Darcy pushed open the door and stepped inside the air-conditioned apartment building. Bucky was on her mind as she checked her empty mailbox and took the stairs to her third-floor corner apartment. Despite all the anger and bitterness she had over him tricking her and leaving her in Steve’s care, she couldn’t really be all that upset with him. The asshole had probably thought he was doing the right thing, the noble thing. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about Bucky. She wondered where he was and if he was okay. She wondered if he’d remembered everything and how he was coping with it. She wondered if he’d been able to forgive himself. She hoped he was in a good place.

Taking the stairs, she dialed Jane’s number and listened to it ring four times before going to voicemail. It was the game the two of them played two or three times a week. Darcy would call, and Jane would miss the call but return it within two minutes. Darcy suspected Jane had her ringer turned off and couldn’t be bothered to turn it on because science was more important. Like clockwork, Darcy’s phone started ringing as she stepped up on the landing for the third floor. She was winded and irritated with the day, though she wasn’t exactly sure why.

“Hey, Jane.”

“Are you out running? You sound out of breath.”

Darcy laughed and pushed open the stairwell door. “No. Just taking the stairs. It’s the only exercise I get besides the walk to the main building and back.”

“Don’t they have a gym?” Jane asked.

“I am _not_ using a gym with all those superhero types. I’d look like a fool. How is London?”

“Good. Cambridge has approached me about teaching a class.”

Darcy unlocked her door with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder. “Really? That’s amazing, Jane. You don’t sound pumped, though.”

Jane sighed. “It’s a commitment and would take away from research. I just got that grant, and I feel like I need to focus my energy on my work, not teaching.”

“So, could you be a guest lecturer? Maybe see if you like it? I mean, you always loved teaching me even if I didn’t have the aptitude for it.”

“Yeah, I guess I could.”

Darcy flipped on the light and locked the door behind her. The apartment was clean and modern with huge windows and automated blinds that could be controlled by a switch. It was the nicest place she’d ever lived, hands down. “Everyone is freaking out over the Accords,” Darcy told Jane before letting her messenger bag slip off her shoulder and fall onto the white tile by the door.

“Are they signing them?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said with a sigh. “Tony and Steve are butting heads.”

“I don’t know Tony that well, but it seems a little surprising that he’s so willing to sign up.”

Darcy sat down in the middle of the couch. “Yeah, well, I think he’s got a lot of guilt over how Stark Industries made its money and… I don’t know. He’s a strange guy. Like, I thought he was just flippant and fun and whatever, but he’s actually kinda sad. You know? I think stuff gets to him, but he puts on a brave face. He just wants everyone to be okay and to get along, despite his snarky-ass mouth.”

“Like you,” Jane said.

This made Darcy laugh softly. “I don’t have nearly as much shit to deal with as him, so things can’t get to me that much. Steve is way against it. Like, _way_ against it. I see his point. I mean, just a couple years ago he was fighting for SHIELD not even realizing that he was helping to further HYDRA’s agenda. Like, the minute you commit to only following orders from this organization or that organization, that’s the minute you open yourself up to be used by people to further whatever agenda they have.”

“Agendas can be good.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “That’s true, but not always true. Honestly, my jaded little ass thinks most agendas are shitty. I guess I’m more like Steve. I trust the government about as far as I can throw it, which is not far at all.”

“So, what’s happening?” Jane asked.

Darcy let her head fall back on the cushion behind her. “I don’t know. Wanda’s being told she can’t leave the compound for her own safety. Tony left with Secretary Ross earlier today. They’re talking about attending some ceremony in Vienna. Ross is giving them, like, two or three days to sign it. Steve’s still sticking to his guns even though Natasha is telling him that he should reconsider. Honestly, I think she just doesn’t want the fight. Like, she’s just trying to keep everyone together. Steve is looking for a fight.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s just him. And Peggy Carter died. Steve’s leaving soon and headed your way for the funeral. I… I feel really bad for him, but I don’t know how to help.”

“Really, Darcy, you help by just being there. I’m speaking from experience,” Jane said.

“Feels like I should be doing something else. Thought I might sit down and read the Accords tonight and see if I can poke some holes in them. Maybe give Steve something to fire back with. I mean, I think he’s right. I trust him and Tony and Wanda and Sam and Natasha and whoever. I trust them to do what’s right. And bad things that happen like what happened in Lagos… well, that’s not their fault. They didn’t set off the bomb. They were doing what they could to stop it.”

She sighed and said, “I know, Darcy.”

“So, that’s my plan for the night. I told Steve I was coming to the funeral with him so I could visit you, too. He gave me some bullshit excuse about keeping me safe or whatever. I mean, I’ve been out in public, even by myself, since the thing with HYDRA a couple years ago. They’ve got bigger fish to fry than me. He’s just intent on doing everything himself like he’s some fucking martyr. Him and that asshole of a best friend are two peas in a pod.”

Jane laughed before saying, “I thought you had a crush on him. Now you’re calling him an asshole?”

“Who? Steve?” Darcy asked.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Oh, yeah, I did have this really ill-advised crush on him.”

“Did?”

Darcy closed her eyes. “Yeah. Did. Until he left me high and dry with his best friend as a babysitter.”

“I thought he was trying to protect you from bad people, Darcy,” Jane said.

She sighed heavily. “Yeah. He probably was. I just… it’s pretty annoying that he lied to me and didn’t consult me about it. I mean, we’d been through a lot. He was still struggling.”

“You’re still worried about him.”

Darcy huffed out a breath of laughter. “I am. I think about him every day. Do you think that will ever stop? It’s been two years.”

“Eventually, maybe.”

“Still thinking about Thor?”

This time it was Jane’s turn to release a breath of bitter laughter. “Yep.”

“Do you–”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Darcy. It’s over and done. He’s gone. I’m moving on. It’s just… slow.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “Yeah, I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Assassin Still Missing, Could Be Anywhere_

Darcy stopped reading the article after the second paragraph when it was clear the author was just creating clickbait to collect reads and up his or her hit count. Whatever. She should have known better than to search the internet for “Winter Soldier.” The major news outlets hadn’t given much attention to Bucky’s alternate persona that enjoyed guns and knives and taking out targets, but the fringe media occasionally covered the super secret assassin who had nearly defeated Captain America and brought the United States government to its knees. He’d become a bit of a boogeyman, and Darcy knew some of the things they’d pinned on him weren’t true or were probably twisted to sensationalize the story.

The articles made Steve angry, so she stopped showing them to him. However, she couldn’t help herself. Every time she got the urge to search for him, she hoped she’d find some random forum or Reddit board that might have a post from someone wondering if his wacky neighbor might be the elusive Winter Soldier. Darcy always fantasized that she’d see the info and hop a plane to wherever he was hiding so she could find and confront him, so she could ask him why he’d kissed her and then left. It remained a fantasy. A lot of people claimed to have seen him, but none of them were credible enough for her to drop everything and search him out.

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself, closing the browser window and the folder that held her research on Bucky and her correspondence with an attorney who had looked into a way to obtain immunity if Bucky ever did surface. It was a secret project that she was too ashamed to share with anyone but Steve. He understood when she didn’t think anyone else could.

Darcy had no idea where Steve was. Wanda and Vision were downstairs somewhere, but the rest of the crew was missing in action, and it irritated her that all her charges were fighting and running off to parts unknown. She tried Steve’s cell again, but he didn’t answer. “Jerk,” she whispered, disconnecting when she heard his voicemail message start.

The United Nations council was meeting in Vienna at that moment. Almost every country had ratified the Accords. The more Darcy read them, the more she hated them. They tied the hands of Steve and Tony and everyone else who could make a difference. It prevented them from acting until the U.N. Security Council could convene and vote on taking action. People would die while politicians were voting on whether anything should be done. Darcy wished the people who were pushing for the Accords could meet and actually get to know the Avengers. If they did, then they’d understand, like she did, that these were _good_ people who wanted to help. The cynical side of Darcy piped up to remind her that some of the people pushing for the Accords probably just wanted more power. They wanted a weapon to wield, and that weapon just happened to be people who had become her friends. She’d met another person who been used as a weapon, and that hadn’t turned out very well for him at all. The idea of Steve or Natasha or Sam or anyone being used that way really pissed her off.

The registry raised Darcy’s hackles, too. She could see a future where people with extraordinary powers or abilities were seen as a threat to security and rounded up to be placed in fancy detention centers. Except they probably wouldn’t call them detention centers. The assholes who wanted to tell everyone how to live their lives, well, they’d find a nicer name for it. Maybe they’d call it a village or a community for the enhanced. It wouldn’t matter. It would still be a detention center made for placing handcuffs--real or proverbial--on people who were different. “Fuck that,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair as she stared at the Accords on her screen.

Darcy felt helpless as she considered what was happening right then. She thought about all those assholes in suits meeting in Vienna to celebrate a document that would probably make life a lot more difficult for her friends. She had anxiety over what would happen to those enhanced individuals like Steve who refused to sign. Would they just let him resign? Even if they did, would he? Over the past two years, Darcy had gotten to know Steve Rogers well. Steve was unable to turn a blind eye to a situation he felt was unjust. His ass was going to get involved one way or another. And then what? Were they going to lock him up? She’d heard things about an underwater prison where they held people who couldn’t be contained in a normal prison. Her stomach turned as she thought about Steve or Sam being locked up and about how she probably couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Rubbing her eyes, she picked up her phone to call Steve again. If she bombarded him with enough calls, then he would eventually answer. Just as soon as she started to dial, her phone vibrated with a news alert. She saw Vienna and Accords before it disappeared. It was probably an alert telling her about the ceremony. It made her stomach turn over even though she’d known it was inevitable. There had been strong support behind the Accords for weeks. The situation in Lagos when the aid workers had been accidentally killed had been the right wing’s wet dream. They’d parlayed that shit into the Accords just as fast as they’d parlayed Nine-Eleven into the Patriot Act. People ate it up, too. People were happy to give away their rights in the name of security. Now that she’d seen more than her share of scary stuff, Darcy wasn’t so sure that giving up rights for security really helped.

She swiped down on her phone and looked at her new notification.

**_Explosion Rocks Accords Ceremony in Vienna_ **

Explosion? Her stomach dropped. “What the fuck?” she whispered, touching the notification.

She scanned the article on her phone screen. There had been an explosion outside the Vienna International Centre where everyone was meeting. Authorities thought the source was a van parked outside in a loading area but did not have a suspect in custody. The news outlets were saying it was too soon to report on the dead and injured, but they suspected dozens dead and hundreds injured.

“Oh, shit,” Darcy whispered, pulling up the news on her computer screen as she called Steve again. No answer. No answer from Sam or from Natasha. She didn’t think Steve or Sam had attended the ceremony in Vienna, but she knew Natasha was there. She tried Natasha again, but it just went straight to voicemail. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered, standing up and pacing the length of her tiny office before sitting back down.

A man who worked down the hall from her in Communications popped his head into her doorway. “Did you see–” he started to ask.

“Yes,” she said, cutting him off. “Do we have a way of getting Black Widow through secure channels? Her cell isn’t working.”

“I can try. I don’t think she has her radio on. We didn’t anticipate–”

“Where is Cap?” she asked, cutting him off.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll try his radio.”

“Try Falcon’s, too,” she told him as he ducked back out into the hallway.

She sat in front of her computer screen and watched the scene unfold through quick updates on articles and shaky cell phone footage. An hour into the debacle, she got a call from Steve who sounded like he was already on a mission and making plans in his head on how he was going to deal with the situation. The Accords had been signed before the stupid ceremony, but her reminder to him that he was handcuffed whether he signed them or not fell on deaf ears. He didn’t seem to care that taking action right now might put him in danger of being arrested.

“You don’t even know who did it,” she’d told him.

“I’ll find out,” had been his curt response before he hung up.

Another hour later and the body count was up to fifty-seven with over a hundred fifty injured. She’d also fielded countless calls from news outlets trying to get in touch with Captain America or who wanted to know if Black Widow was among the injured or dead. Natasha had called a few minutes before to assure Darcy that she was unharmed, but that the King of Wakanda had been killed in the blast. The knowledge made Darcy’s stomach drop into her feet because she knew the backlash on this was going to be bad. The talking heads on television were already pointing fingers.

She watched and read it all with mounting unease as if she were waiting for the penny to drop. It was in the third hour of coverage that it did. A grainy still from a surveillance camera across the street showed a man who looked just like Bucky walking away from the white van moments before it exploded. They’d already fingered him as the culprit and dredged up the past, linking him with HYDRA and speculating that he was the notorious assassin who had betrayed his best friend to fight for the bad guys.

“No,” Darcy whispered as her chest tightened. Had they found him, turned him back into the weapon he’d been? Had they destroyed the man she’d gotten to know over those tense days they’d spent on the run? She zoomed in on the picture, but it was too grainy to see much detail beyond the build, the hair, and the profile of his face. It all looked like Bucky. If she’d seen it posted in a forum by some person claiming they lived next door to the Winter Soldier, then she would have hopped on the next flight to go confront him. “Bucky, no,” Darcy said. “Please no.”

She dialed Steve almost immediately. He picked up on the first ring. “Did you see?” he said to her instead of greeting her with a hello.

“Yes. Is it really him?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. Looks like it. Darcy, what if they got him? What if he’s back with them?”

The way he’d just voiced her own fears made Darcy want to throw up. “It’s not him. He wouldn’t have done this.”

“I know it isn’t him, Darcy,” Steve snapped. She listened as he exhaled a shaky breath and said, “I’m sorry. I just… what if it is him, but it’s not really him?”

“We’ve gotta help,” she said. There was no other choice in her mind. If HYDRA had got their claws in Bucky again, then there was no option other than doing what they could to find him and bring him in.

“Sam and I are heading to Vienna now. He cant have gone far.”

“Steve, the things they did to him when he was… They were horrible to him. What if he’s been there these two years… with them? What if–”

“Darcy,” Steve said, interrupting her. “You can’t think like that.”

She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. “I can’t help but think like that. What if all this time he’s been treated like an animal? Steve, he told me if they caught him again then they’d wipe him so completely that they might erase him. What if he’s not Bucky anymore?” The panic that started in her gut was beginning to build until she could feel it in her chest. It was tightening her throat now. “We need to find him. How do we find him?”

“I don’t know. Darcy, I’ve gotta go. We’ll find him, I promise. Just… just call me if you hear anything.”

She nodded and then realized they were on the phone. “Oh--okay.”

“Stay on the base. Don’t leave. I don’t want you in danger.”

“I’ve been fine. I think they’ve forgotten about me.”

“But if there’s anything left of him, he might remember you. And if he does, he might get it all mixed up in his head.”

Darcy opened her mouth and shut it twice before she could respond. “Are you saying he’s a threat?”

“I don’t know, Darcy. Maybe. Remember. He’s not Bucky anymore. Bucky wouldn’t do this.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll stay on base. Call me. Please.”

 

* * *

 

 

A day later and the world was consumed by finding the terrorist, Bucky Barnes. Darcy could barely sleep, and she spent most of her waking hours trying to ascertain his location. She wasn’t sure how she could ever find him if Steve couldn’t. He had more resources and experience at his disposal. Besides, he’d found Bucky once in enemy hands--both of them had told her about it--so certainly he’d be the best person to find Bucky again.

The news coverage made her sick. There were people giving their opinions as fact, people who were painting Bucky out to be some turncoat who betrayed his best friend. Some people even claimed that he’d done it to get the cybernetic arm after losing his in the fall. Fuck them. Fuck all of them, she thought. They didn’t know the first thing about him.

She went home late, clutching her phone and hoping for a call from Steve or Sam or anyone. Wanda was still detained in the basement of the main facility with Vision acting as some sort of guard, keeping her there for what he believed was her own good. Darcy had gone down to talk to her, but Vision creeped her out. He was nice and always polite, but there was just something about him that was off. It had gotten better over the past year; he was slowly learning how to interact with people in a more human way, but there was still something robotic there that made Darcy feel uncomfortable. Wanda seemed to bring out the more human side of him, so maybe the two of them spending time together was for the best.

She sat up and scrolled through the news feed on her phone, obsessively looking for any update on the search for the Winter Soldier. Around ten o’clock that night, a knock on her door startled her. It was Natasha, who had arrived back from Vienna. The other woman didn’t enter. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe and said, “Hey, you okay?”

Darcy gave her a strained smile. “Okay as can be. Are _you_ okay? You sounded off when we talked yesterday.”

“I’m okay. Steve told you to say on the premises, right?” Natasha asked.

“Yep. Here I am. You wanna come in? You look beat.”

“I gotta go check in. How is Wanda?”

Darcy shrugged. “She feels like this is her fault. I don’t know what to say to her. I mean, just telling her it isn’t her fault… that doesn’t really help. Doesn’t change her mind, you know?”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, I know. You tell me if Steve calls with news. Okay?”

“Likewise, Nat.”

The redhead gave her a weary smile. “I will.” The grin faltered as she added, “You tell me if he contacts you, too.”

“He who?” Darcy asked. When Natasha gave her that look that said she should know better, Darcy raised her brows. “Bucky? Bucky isn’t going to contact me. I think he’s gone. He wouldn’t have set that bomb off if he was in control.”

“I believe you,” Nat assured her. “Just be careful.”

“Ugh, you and Steve,” Darcy said, annoyance in her voice. “I’m nothing to the Winter Soldier. I’m probably nothing to Bucky. I don’t think there is anything to be worried about.”

Natasha tapped the doorframe before she pushed off it and stepped back. “Call if you need anything, if you hear anything.”

“Yeah, okay,” Darcy agreed before she shut the door.

Instead of sitting up all night staring at her phone screen, Darcy drank two cups of camomile tea and went to bed just before eleven. Bucky was on her mind as she fell asleep. She remembered those nights she’d fallen asleep under his watchful eye. She also remembered those nights they’d whispered their secrets in dark motel rooms with tentative touches. Recalling the person she’d gotten to know over the week they’d spent on the run made Darcy’s chest ache. Now HYDRA had him again and she didn’t know if they’d ever be able to get him back, even if Steve could find him.

Darcy fell into a restless sleep with dreams of metal plates affixed to his temples as he screamed for her to help him. She woke up with a gasp, the sheets tangled around her legs and the back of her neck damp with sweat. Sitting up, she pushed her hair away from her face and froze. In the dim glow coming from the nightlight outside her door, she could see a figure seated in the armchair at the foot of her bed. It was all so familiar because she’d woken to him watching over her many times before.

She didn’t dare move a muscle because she didn’t know what frame of mind he was in. Was this the Winter Soldier? Had he been sent her to kill her? “Bucky?” she whispered in a trembling voice. “Bucky, is that you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for breaking hearts, so here's the next chapter early. I'll post chapter 15 later today once it has been edited, probably about 10 or so hours from now. If you're in a time zone near the Eastern US one, then you'll get two chapters today. Dry those tears!


	15. Chapter 15

 

> _“I think of you only like a miracle. Lovin’ so deeply I feel it through all my past lives.” - Alabama Shakes (Over My Head)_

He’d been watching her for an hour before she’d started tossing and turning. Bucky had wondered if she was having a nightmare in which he’d broken in and attacked her. He wouldn’t blame her for it. His face was all over the news now that he’d been fingered as the bomber. As soon as he’d seen his pictures plastered all over the newspapers in Bucharest, he’d stowed away in the cargo hold of a plane bound for the east coast of the United States. It had only taken him a few minutes to make the decision. Hiding without his picture everywhere was hard enough. It was just a matter of time before someone called in a tip that the man they were searching for lived in a rundown apartment on the fourth floor of a crumbling concrete building on the outskirts of Bucharest.

Only a matter of time, he’d told himself as he’d run through his options and decided the only one he really wanted was to turn himself in to her. He’d at least be able to tell her it wasn’t him who’d planted the bomb. Maybe she was worried about him. His brain liked to dwell on fantasies in which she cared and thought of him after all this time.

Bucky knew where she was. It wasn’t hard to see her name as one of the press contacts for the Avengers. He’d thanked Steve ten times over in his head for taking her in and giving her a life outside of running and hiding. Her breathing became labored as she turned onto her back. She was definitely having a bad dream, a nightmare. Was he the star of it? The thought made Bucky sick to his stomach.

The security at the door of the building had been difficult to bypass without setting off an alarm or being seen, and he suspected her apartment door was protected by biometrics. Her windows weren’t and, with a little finesse, he was able to unlock the living room one after scaling the building. There were no cameras to see him creep through her place and settle himself in a chair by her bed. It was like old times. Bucky didn’t think he could ever look at those days on the run fondly, but when he thought of the time he’d spent with her, they seemed like a dream.

He licked his lips as he remembered kissing her. It was at that moment that she sat up, gasping for breath. He saw the moment she realized she wasn’t alone in the darkness of her bedroom. Her heart was hammering in her chest so hard he could hear it from across the room as she said, “Bucky? Bucky, is that you?”

“It’s me, Darcy.” He didn’t move because moving might frighten her. “I didn’t set the bomb, doll. I swear I didn’t.”

Darcy shifted until she was on her knees. She was just in a T-shirt that hit her at mid-thigh and hung off one shoulder. Breathing was difficult now that he was so close to her after having fantasized for so long. “Are you okay? Did they find you?”

“Who? The U.N.?”

“HYDRA,” she said.

Bucky furrowed his brows. “No. I’ve been in hiding.”

“I thought they’d found you and did those things again. I thought they’d brainwashed you into blowing up the ceremony.”

“No, I wasn’t even there. I’ve been in Bucharest. I swear, doll.” He licked his lips and tried to keep still. He wanted to lean forward or get up and sit on the edge of the bed with her. “I swear I didn’t do it. Please believe me.”

She was silent for a long moment in which he didn’t dare pull in a breath. Finally, she said, “I believe you. But are you sure, Bucky? Are you sure they didn’t fuck with your head? Because I saw a still from a surveillance camera. It looked just like you.” She shifted until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. “Wait, did they _clone_ you?”

Bucky gave her a chuckle that was more sad than anything else. “Honestly, I don’t know, doll. I don’t know what the hell is happening. I’ve been in Bucharest for almost two years. I went there after I… after Puente Antiguo. I’ve been… I’ve been trying to work through things. I don’t know who that was on the video, but it wasn’t me.”

“Why did you leave me?” she said, clenching her hands together in her lap. Her beautiful hair was wild, and he wished he could see more of her than just her silhouette. He wanted to see the details--her blue eyes and perfect lips and the pink that tinged her cheeks.

“You know why I left.”

“Because you were too ashamed to face Steve.”

He sighed. “Darcy, it was more than that.”

“Well, I’ll have you know he was hurt that you left. He cares about your ass.”

“He’s better off without me.”

“Well, you hurt _me_ , too. You tricked me. You just… you left. You didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t give me a chance to either. I… I’ve worried about you every single day since then. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.”

Bucky felt a strange mixture of emotion that included euphoria over the knowledge that she still cared about him and despair that this life wouldn’t ever be his, especially not now that he was a known international criminal, his face everywhere. He’d be caught and imprisoned or he’d be killed in the pursuit. Sitting here in her bedroom was going to be the last moment he’d have alone with her.

“Darcy, I’m so sorry. I came here to turn myself in to you,” he whispered.

She stood up and said, “What does that mean?”

“I wanted to tell you it wasn’t me. I needed to tell you that before I’m caught and end up dead or locked up. You believe me, don’t you, doll?”

Darcy stepped over to stand in front of him, looking down into his upturned face. “Of course I do. You knew I would or you wouldn’t have come here.”

“I missed you,” he said softly on an exhale.

“Can I turn the light on? I want to see you. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Her question felt like a vice around his heart. “Yeah, doll, you can turn the light on. I’d like to see you, too.”

She walked over to the floor lamp by her nightstand on bare feet. He watched her go, letting his gaze trace the contours of her body. The warm, yellow light transformed the room from a small cave far from the world to a scary reality. He was here and he was doing this.

“I probably look like shit,” she said before turning around. Her blue eyes were wide and her features were just as he’d remembered them.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, looking up at her from his seat.

She gave him a small smile, but her real emotions were belied by the wetness gathering on her lower lids. “You look good, Bucky. I was so worried about you.”

“Don’t cry, doll. Please don’t cry over me.”

“Shut up, you jerk.” She swiped at the tears before they could roll down her cheeks. The gesture made his chest ache. “I’d give you a hug, but you’re not a hugger.”

“Can I stand up?” he asked.

Her brows furrowed. “I don’t know. Can you?”

“Didn’t want to scare you.”

She laughed softly. “I’m not afraid of you. Are you gonna stand up and give me a hug?”

“I’m gonna try,” he said, pushing himself out of the chair. The cybernetic arm made soft noises as it moved with him.

Darcy took a tentative step toward him. “Never thought I’d say this, but I really missed the crazy sounds your left arm makes.”

This made Bucky chuckle. It died prematurely on his lips when he confessed, “I ain’t touched anyone since… you.”

“It’s been two years,” she replied.

“It’s still… hard.”

She shook her head. “I could just kill them for what they did to you. Sit down. No hug necessary.”

“I want to. Will you let me?” His heart was hammering in his chest. This was probably the only chance he would have to hold her. Not just hold her hand or kiss her lips, but really hold her in his arms.

She gave him a smile that was warm and sweet and everything he didn’t think he deserved. The memories of riding in different vehicles and talking to her in different motel rooms hit him hard. “Of course. I missed you, too,” Darcy whispered.

Bucky forced himself to take a step closer to her. The palm of his right hand was sweating, but his left was hanging at his side, impassive, a robotic abomination that he didn’t really want to use when he touched her. Like she could read every thought in his fucking mind, she reached out and ran the fingers of her hand up the sleeve covering his left arm, beginning at the wrist and going all the way up to his shoulder. The light touch made him tense and that caused her to pull back.

“Don’t,” he said. It came out like a plea. “Don’t pull away.”

She gave him that gracious smile that made him wish things could be different. Why hadn’t he just run away with her to Mexico? “Will you freak out on me if _I_ hug _you_?” she asked.

“No,” he said on an exhale. He wanted to beg her to take that first step for him and initiate the hug but couldn’t seem to shove his pride and his discomfort down enough to say anything, though.

Darcy opened her arms and slipped them around his waist just before she stepped forward into his body. Her forearms pressed up the length of his middle back just before she laid her palms against his shoulder blades. It was sensory overload for a moment. She was everything--arms and hands and chest and legs. When he looked down he could see the crown of her head and also the swell of her breasts in the V-neck of her shirt as they pushed up against his chest.

She laid her cheek against his collarbone and sighed. A blissful feeling of tenderness washed through him, and Bucky felt the tension leave his body. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms--both arms–around her, holding her to him, still careful not to squeeze too hard.

“Let me help you, Bucky,” she whispered. The words made his heart ache.

“You can’t,” he whispered back.

“But I can. I’m working for the Avengers now. I’ll vouch for you. I’ll… I’ll tell them you were with me this entire time.”

“I’m not going to let you lie for me.”

“But you didn’t do it. I know you didn’t. Even if it was your body, it wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t me at all, not even my body. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how it’s possible.”

She was curling her fingers in and then extending them out, running her nails over the thin shirt that covered his back. The sensation made him want to shiver in pleasure. “Then we’ll find out what happened. We’ll prove it wasn’t you. Steve will help. He misses you, Bucky. Hell, I only knew you for, like, a week and _I_ missed you.”

“You can’t protect me from this, doll.”

“But I can. _I can_.” Bucky opened his eyes to look down at her when he felt Darcy lift her head. Her blue eyes were looking up at him. “We’ll put you in a safe house. Steve will help. We can negotiate with the government and explain what happened.”

“Did he sign the Accords?” Bucky asked.

“You know he didn’t,” she replied.

He released her and, with hands on her shoulders, pushed her away from him. “Then he doesn’t have any leverage. He’s already on their list. They ain’t gonna listen to him.”

“Trust me, Bucky. What if you turn yourself in and… and HYDRA gets to you in the jail?”

Her question made his stomach flip over. He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead. He just knew he needed to clear his name with her and turn himself in. He hadn’t set the bomb, but he’d done so much more. He should be atoning for in a prison cell for those things. He was tired of running, and it had become obvious in the past two years that he’d never be able to lead a regular life. The constant need to watch over his shoulder and the cybernetic abomination hanging from his left shoulder meant he’d never be normal or free. However, the prospect of HYDRA breaking him out of prison so they could wipe him and use him again and again as their executioner--it was too much to bear.

“What do I do?” he asked her, letting his hands fall from her shoulders. All the energy was leaving his body as hopelessness set in. Would it never end? Would he never be done? Did he deserve freedom, even if it was the freedom to sit in a six foot by eight foot cell?

“Let me do this for you,” she whispered. “Would you just trust me?”

“I don’t want to put you in danger anymore,” he told her.

She reached out to touch the center of his chest, hesitating before her fingertips brushed against the fabric of his shirt. “Stop worrying about me. I’m okay,” she told him, pulling her hand back.

Bucky reached up and took the outstretched hand, laying her palm flat against his chest and covering her hand with his own. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

“It’s my turn to figure that out. Okay? Do you trust me?”

He nodded before closing his eyes and focusing on the way her hand felt pressed against his chest. “Of course I do. Wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t trust you.”

“I believe you, and I’ll make everyone else believe you.” The conviction in her voice made her sound like a force to be reckoned with. She’d fight for him in a way he wasn’t capable of fighting for himself. The flash of knowledge lifted a weight off him that he didn’t realize he’d been carrying. If push came to shove, he’d find a way to kill himself if it came to imprisonment. She was right; prison would just make him a sitting duck for HYDRA. They’d infiltrate the facility and break him out so they could use him again.

“Okay,” he told her, opening his eyes. “Okay. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

She smiled at him. It was wide and full of happiness, something he didn’t realize he was capable of giving anyone. The way she looked at him sometimes knocked him back on his heels. He didn’t know how to handle her, especially when the memory surfaced of their lips pressed together and the velvety softness of her tongue in his mouth. Bucky wondered if she thought about it sometimes because he thought about it all the time.

“I need to call Steve. Okay?”

Bucky swallowed the anxiety cutting off his airway. “Okay.”

“Trust me,” she implored him with wide eyes as she pulled her hand away from his chest. She grabbed his right hand with hers and squeezed. “Trust me,” she repeated.

“I do, doll,” Bucky assured her, trying to suppress the fear and anxiety coursing through his veins. “I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy made Bucky sit down in the chair and retrieved her cell from the nightstand. She sat down on the foot of her bed and gave Bucky a smile that she hoped was reassuring. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. I might not have a lot of power, but I have more than I did when we first met. We’re going to get through this.”

He gave her a strained smile back, but he actually didn’t look all that thrilled. He looked like he wanted to die. Darcy couldn’t do anything about that now, so she turned her focus to the phone in her hand as she dialed Steve’s number. He picked up on the third ring.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she responded.

Before she could open her mouth to tell him about Bucky, Steve had already started talking. “Something doesn’t feel right, Darcy. This isn’t HYDRA. HYDRA would benefit from the Accords. They’d have a list of every enhanced person on the registry. They could recruit or assassinate using that list. They infiltrated SHIELD; they could infiltrate the government by rigging elections. I mean, is this all to turn the public against us even more? Is that what they’re trying to do?” He took a breath and she opened her mouth to tell him about Bucky, but he just continued on. “Sharon told me Ross got a tip that Bucky is in Bucharest. Sam and I are headed there now. I think I can bring him in before–”

“Steve,” she said interrupting.

“What?” he asked.

“I need you to sit down for a minute.”

“What?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave.

“I’m safe. I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Do you understand?”

“Darcy what are you–?”

“Bucky is here with me,” she said.

“ _What_?”

Darcy looked up at Bucky and said, “He didn’t plant the bomb, Steve. It wasn’t him. He’s sitting in my bedroom and he’s not HYDRA’s weapon. He’s Bucky. He’s okay,”

“Darcy, you need to call Natasha right now. You can’t be alone with–”

“Stop. I’m fine. He’s not a threat. You have to trust me on this. He did not bomb the ceremony in Vienna. I’ll bet my life on it.”

“Put him on the phone.”

Darcy pressed the cell phone against her chest. “He wants to talk to you,” she whispered. “I think you should say something to him.”

Bucky shook his head. “He doesn’t believe you.”

“He will. He’ll believe. It’s just that we saw the security footage of someone who looked just like you leaving the scene. He thinks HYDRA made you do it. He doesn’t think you’re to blame for it, Bucky.”

“But I didn’t. I’ve done so much, but I swear I didn’t do that. I– I ate a sandwich for dinner and watched an old movie on a VCR tape. I couldn’t sleep so I sat up all night reading and going through my cards--the ones you made me write. I repaired the cabinet doors in the kitchen and went to work at a bakery that hired me. They--they can tell you I was there from four in the morning until noon. I went on a run after. When I got back I ate leftovers from work. I can… I can account for–”

“Bucky,” she said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to argue your point with me. I believe you.” Darcy put the phone back to her ear. “Steve, he was at work from four until noon the day of the bombing. Can you get the people he works with to give statements or whatever? The bombing was at eleven in the morning in Vienna. There is no way he could have done it, not even if he wasn’t in control of himself.”

“I don’t like him being alone with you. What if he snaps and–”

“Shut up, Steve,” Darcy replied. “Bucky is fine. I’m fine. Can you get to the place where he worked in Bucharest before the wrong people get there first and convince them that they shouldn’t back him up?”

“What do you think this is?” Steve asked.

Darcy shook her head and looked at Bucky again. “I don’t know. I mean, what if this is HYDRA trying to flush him out so they can get their hands back on him? It’s just a bonus for them that they get to upset the whole Accords thing and push those right-wingers even further right. I mean, shit, people are on TV talking about rounding up people with powers now. That’s fucking insane.”

“Give the phone to Bucky. I need to talk to him.” Steve’s voice was sharp. The words were not a request, but a command.

She stood up and held the phone out to Bucky. He reluctantly accepted it and pressed it to his ear. “Steve,” he whispered.

Darcy held her breath as she heard the sound of Steve’s voice from the speaker, but couldn’t make out the actual words.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah.”

Darcy watched as Bucky pushed his hair back from his face and looked at the floor. Steve was talking, and she wished she could hear what he was saying to Bucky’s comment about his mother.

Sighing, Bucky said, “You… you used to put newspaper in your shoes.”

Was Steve making him prove his identity, prove that he wasn’t still scrambled from HYRDRA’s programming? That asshole; he couldn’t just trust her judgment.

“It wasn’t me,” Bucky whispered. “I swear. I’ve done bad things, but not this one.” Bucky paused for a moment as Steve spoke, then he responded by saying, “I’d die for her. I’d never hurt her.” His gaze was on the floor between them. Darcy felt her eyes well up with tears at his admission.

Steve did some more talking as Darcy brushed away the wetness in her eyes and looked at Bucky who was avoiding eye contact with her. She wanted to reach out to him, but she knew now was not the right time. He and Steve were trying to talk around their past and deal with the present.

“I’m not the same person, Steve. That ain’t me. Too much has happened; I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve done horrible things.” Bucky’s voice was soft and his tone was brittle. After a moment’s pause for Steve to respond, he said, “I’m ashamed of myself. I can’t be what you are.”

Darcy reached out and took the phone from his hand, her fingertips brushing against his. She pressed it to her ear and said, “Now isn’t the time, Steve. He needs your help.”

“Tell me where he worked. Sam and I will take Rhodey and someone from Ross’ team. It can’t just be me. This is too personal for me and they won’t believe it.”

Bucky must have heard Steve’s request because he gave Darcy the address of the bakery without her even having to ask. She repeated it to Steve and said, “Don’t you tell anyone, and I mean _anyone_ that he’s here with me. Not until we know what’s going on.”

“I’d feel better if–”

“I’d feel better if you just do what I say, Steven. Can you just trust me on this one?”

Steve exhaled a sharp breath that spoke volumes. He didn’t like her calling the shots, but he didn’t have a better idea. “Fine. I’ll call you when I have answers.”

Darcy disconnected and looked down at Bucky. He was still seated in the chair and looking up at her with worry in his eyes. “He’ll call back when he’s locked in your alibi,” she said. “For now you and I are going to stay right here and wait.”

“I’m putting you in danger again,” he whispered. “What if you’re right and this is HYDRA trying to flush me out? What if they’re on their way here right now?”

“This apartment is way more secure than any other place we stayed back when you and I were on the run. I think we’re in a good position to protect ourselves. And backup is just up the street. Besides, you haven’t let me down yet.” Darcy sat down on the bed and sighed. “Well, except for that time you ran off and left me with your best friend.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think Steve and I are friends anymore.”

“Bullshit you aren’t. You didn’t see how upset he was that you weren’t there in Puente Antiguo. You are definitely still his best friend.” Darcy shifted and folded her legs beneath her on the mattress. “He doesn’t blame you, Bucky. I know you might feel like he does, but I assure you that he doesn’t.”

“You and him close now?” Bucky asked, glancing up to catch her gaze for the first time since she hung up the phone.

“We’re friends,” she replied.

“Friends,” Bucky repeated.

Darcy smiled. “Wait, are you asking if he and I are dating?”

“You seemed pretty close on the phone. He was worried about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Steve worries about everyone. You should know that since I doubt he’s changed that much since the olden days. He and I are just friends.”

Bucky didn’t reply. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his lap.

“What was with the kiss?” she asked, unable to hold the question back for any longer.

“What?” Bucky said, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She raised her brows. “The kiss by the payphone in Puente Antiguo. You pull that shit nowadays, you’ll make a girl think you like her as more than a friend.”

He licked his lips and dropped his gaze to the floor again. “I, uh, I wanted to… I don’t know, Darcy. I just… There was so much going on and I was… I knew I was going to have to leave you. I thought I’d never see you again. I don’t know.”

She laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You kissed me because you thought you’d never see me again?”

“Darcy…” he replied, looking up with hurt eyes.

Shaking her head, she murmured, “You know what? Now isn’t the time to talk about it. You’re right. There was a lot going on; there still _is_ a lot going on. Shit happens. Emotions run high and whatever.”

“I don’t know how to explain,” he whispered.

She smiled and this time she wasn’t feeling any resentment. It wasn’t fair to expect explanations or certain behaviors from him. He was still hurting from what had been done to him. The kiss had happened and maybe there wasn’t really a reason. Maybe that was just something she needed to live with. “You don’t owe me anything, Bucky,” Darcy told him, meaning every single word of it.

“But I do,” he said on a breathy exhale. “I owe you everything. _Everything._ ”

“Not really. Look, I love what I do now. I was depressed and feeling trapped when you came along. You broke me out of that and put me on this path. I’m happy. That’s because of you.”

He shook his head.

Darcy frowned and continued by saying, “Bucky, you don’t owe anyone anything. Not me, not Steve, not anyone. I’m serious about that.”

“I owe you an apology.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, and you’ve already given it to me. Don’t hold onto that shit. Tell me what you’ve been doing these two years. Tell me about your life.”

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed. Finally, he said, “Why?”

“Because I want to know. You said you work at a bakery. How long have you worked there? Do you like Bucharest? I’ve never been before. Maybe we can go one day.”

He exhaled a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Doll, I don’t think things are going to go the way you think they are for me. They’re gonna lock me up.”

“I’m not going to let them.”

“You sound so sure of yourself,” he whispered.

Darcy smiled. “Oh, I am. I will not let it happen. We’ve always got plan B.”

“Mexico,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a grin.

“Damn right. So, tell me about Bucharest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't keep these two away from each other for too long on the page/screen.
> 
> The lyrics at the beginning of each chapter come from my inspiration playlist that was on repeat as I wrote this fic. If you'd like to take a listen to them, I created a YouTube playlist here:  
> <https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2o_A-FR3X3CLt6wHR3ZQdN9JAStRDR7P>  
> If you're in another country and the link doesn't work properly, I'm happy to send you a list of the songs.


	16. Chapter 16

 

> _“And we can drown all the lovers that have gone before. Let’s light them by the wrist, their fingerprints will burn. I should drown all the lovers that couldn’t love you more.” - R.I.T.U.A.L. (Drown the Lovers)_

“So, tell me about Bucharest.”

Bucky leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, his head hanging down so she couldn’t see his face. “It was okay. I worked the morning shift in the back of a bakery. Made the bread and cleaned up the kitchen. It was okay because everyone left me alone.”

“No one saw your arm, hand?” she asked.

“No. Kept it covered, wore gloves. No one else worked in the back so it wasn’t hard.”

“What’d you do when you weren’t working?”

“Read a lot. Caught up on movies.” Bucky paused before saying, “Filled up your index cards and bought some more. I put ‘em in order for you.”

The way he’d tacked on the last sentence sent her heart right up into her throat. “For me?” Darcy asked softly.

He looked up at her, still bent over with arms on his knees. “Didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to tell you that I think I finished them.”

“Did it help? Did it help to write it all down like that?”

“Yeah, doll, it helped more than anything else. I think I know what happened now; it’s all in order on the cards.”

Darcy pulled the oversized shirt down to cover her thighs when she saw his gaze wander down before dropping back to the floor. “How long did it take you?”

Shaking his head, Bucky said, “I don’t know. Eight, nine months before I wasn’t remembering new things. Another three or four before I could put ‘em in order.” He looked up again. “A year?”

“How’d you know where to find me?”

“Kept tabs on you when I figured out how to use the internet. There was a cafe a few blocks from my place where you can pay to get access. They didn’t ask for ID.”

Darcy tried to imagine him learning how to navigate modern life on his own in a strange city with no one to help. It made her heart ache. “Why’d you never reach out?”

“To you?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah.”

“Because you’re better off without me.” He chuckled briefly before saying, “I fucked that up and dragged you back into it again by coming here.”

Darcy shifted and watched his eyes go to her bare legs again. It didn’t make her uncomfortable, really. She just wasn’t sure what it meant. Whatever was between them was brittle and unsure. “I wanted to be back in it. I want to help you. Stop trying to protect me from monsters that don’t even exist.”

The gentleness in his blue eyes hardened when he said, “They _do_ exist, Darcy. They almost killed you more than once.”

“I’m not talking about HYDRA. I’m talking about you. Stop running. Just… just let me help you like you helped me.”

“I didn’t help you.”

“You did. You weren’t the one who took me, but you’re the one who helped me. Don’t think I don’t know that for a fact, Bucky.”

He leaned back and slumped down in the chair, his legs extended across the floor between them. Darcy watched as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I’m so tired of watching over my shoulder. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Maybe they’ll execute me.”

“Bucky,” she said, her voice like a whip as she stood up and looked down at him. His eyes were on her again, and he looked so sad. “Don’t say shit like that,” Darcy whispered. “They aren’t going to execute you or throw you in jail.”

He gave her a twisted smile that looked more like a grimace. “I’ll confess it all and they won’t have a choice. I’ll confess it and make you hate me so much you let them.”

“Confess it,” she challenged him. “Confess it all right now and watch me.”

“Doll…”

She put her hands on her hips. “I’m serious, Bucky.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath of air before lifting up his hips and reaching into the back pocket of his black cargo pants to produce a thick stack of index cards. There had to be over a hundred and fifty and most of them were worn around the edges. “Here,” he said. “They’re in chronological order.” She took the stack from him.

With all the attitude she felt about his histrionics, she flopped down on the bed and curled one leg underneath her. The other was hanging over the side, her foot on the floor. Bucky’s gaze felt warm as it moved up her leg to where her shirt hid the upper part of her thigh. “Did you go on many dates? Meet many people in Bucharest?” she asked, clutching the cards in her hand.

“No. You didn’t have to ask; you already knew the answer.”

“Just curious,” she replied before looking down at the index cards in her hands. The first one was his memory of shipping out for Europe in the forties. Darcy tucked her wild hair behind her ears and tried to focus on what he’d written and not the weight of his gaze as he watched her unravel all his secrets.

 

* * *

 

 

After she finished a card, she’d place it face down on the bed in a neat pile. After she’d gone through a third of the pile, he stood up and left the room. The worst of his sins were still in her hands, and Bucky couldn’t bear to watch her read about the horrors he had made. Most of it just made him feel cold and numb now, but back then when he’d been writing them down they’d made him sick to his stomach. Sometimes so sick that he’d find himself dry heaving over the toilet in his rundown apartment.

Her living room was dark and her couch looked comfortable. He sat down in the middle of it just as she appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking like some angel with her hair everywhere and her legs bare. He could see the shape of her breasts underneath the large shirt when she moved her arms. “I came to make sure you weren’t running away from me again,” she said.

“I don’t want to be in there when you read it all,” he admitted.

Darcy walked into the living room. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this, Bucky? You told me this stuff that night. You told me about killing a little boy after you killed his parents. Nothing in here is changing my mind.”

“What’s the saying?” he asked, trying to recall what one of his commanding officers had told them just before going into battle one time. “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that mean? That the full story is worse than knowing the individual things you did?”

“Yes.”

She snorted and went back into the bedroom. It wasn’t what he’d expected from her. Bucky closed his eyes and tried not to think about the way she’d felt pressed against his body when they’d hugged. He tried not to think about the thin shirt she was wearing and everything underneath of it he could never have. He’d spent the better part of the past two years trying to recall the way her mouth tasted when he’d kissed her that night. It had happened so fast that the memory was fleeting and tainted by what had happened afterward, by the way she’d screamed his name when she’d realized he’d left her.

Minutes ticked by and turned into an hour. He waited in the dark with his eyes closed and tried to prepare himself. She’d send a message to someone on base who could help her. They’d come through the front door and apprehend him. He wouldn’t struggle. He would tell them everything and then maybe it could all be done. He could stop running, stop looking over his shoulder, stop making up fantasies in his head about her. Two years had given him enough time to concoct enough ridiculous dreams of a life he’d never have.

He could hear her footsteps on the hardwood floor and the brush of her thighs, skin against skin, as she made her way closer. Bucky didn’t dare open his eyes. This is a dream, he told himself. She’s a dream.

Her hand touched his shoulder first, and he swallowed hard as he tried not to move. His eyes were still shut tight. The couch cushion dipped to his right and then he felt a weight on his leg as the cushion depressed even more. A hand landed on his other shoulder. Bucky opened his eyes to find her straddling his right leg, hands on his shoulders for balance.

“Darcy, what are…”

“I came to give you a hug,” she whispered, leaning forward and sliding her arms around his neck.

Bucky opened his mouth and exhaled the breath he’d been holding as he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her closer until his face was pressed into her sternum, her breasts on either side. He pulled in a ragged breath. “Why?” he whispered, lips brushing over the material of her shirt.

She ran her fingers through his hair and laid her cheek against the crown of his head. “Because I finished your cards and I felt like you deserved one.”

“I thought you’d call for help. I killed people, Darcy. I killed innocent people who begged for their lives. I killed children without a second thought. I remember it all, and I remember choosing to do it. It was never even a question. Don’t you see that?”

“You keep saying you, but I don’t think that was you at all. I think that was what they made you into. Now you’re back in control you’d never do those things.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I just do.” She inhaled sharply when he turned his head to the side. The heat of his breath probably seeped through the material of the shirt against her breast. He wanted to open his mouth wider and suck on her through the cotton fabric, feel the way her nipple would pebble in his mouth. Memories of intimacy, tentative touches, hot breath, and skin rushed back to the forefront of his mind. He’d only entertained them for her since he’d woken from the haze they’d put him in, and now here she was in his arms. They were alone and her thigh was pressed up against his groin. She had to feel how much he wanted her. “Hey,” she whispered into his hair, “you okay?”

Bucky nodded and pressed his cheek into her left breast so he could look up into her face. His mind was urging him to slide his hands underneath the hem of her shirt so he could feel the soft skin of her back with his hands. The left one could discern texture and heat, but the right could feel so much more. He resisted the urge, instead sliding the tips of his left hand down her spine. She arched into him and smiled down at his upturned face.

“Why’d you kiss me that night?” she asked.

“Because I needed to before I left. Because I wanted to,” he said without a second thought.

“I’ve thought about you every day since then,” she whispered, running her nails lightly down the back of his neck. It made Bucky shiver in pleasure, which in turn made Darcy laugh softly.

He licked his lips and said, “There ain’t been a day I didn’t think about you, too, doll. Most of ‘em I wished I’d gone with plan B.”

“We still could, you know.”

Her words made his heart constrict. “You’re better than that, Darcy.”

“We’ll fix this,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll make them listen to you.”

“Doll, I don’t–”

Her phone started ringing. She jumped off his lap, and as much as Bucky wanted to hold onto her, he let her go. He stood up and adjusted his cock in his pants as he heard her answer the call on the third ring, voice all breathless.

“Steve?” Silence and then she said, “Okay. Good. That’s good, right? Are they willing to look into what could have happened since it wasn’t him?” She came through the bedroom door, her face unreadable, but her eyes wide with concern.

Bucky turned his back on her because he couldn’t look at her and not remember only seconds before when she’d been in his lap with his arms around her. The longing was so strong it took his breath away.

“What does a dead Russian have to do with anything? I mean, how did anyone even find out about it?”

The words that came out of her mouth made Bucky’s blood run cold. He turned around and stepped over to where she stood. She had a moment to look shocked before he pulled the phone out of her hand.

“What dead Russian?” he asked Steve.

“Bucky?” Steve said.

“What dead Russian?” he demanded again.

Steve cleared his throat and said, “Vasily Karpov. They found him dead in his house in Ohio. He’s known HYDRA and was on a watch list.”

“Why wasn’t he in jail if he’s known HYDRA?” Bucky asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“Nothing concrete. Nothing to arrest him for.”

“He was a Colonel. He....” Bucky trailed off as he remembered squeezing Maria Stark’s neck in his right hand. “He was the one who sent me for the serum and ordered me to kill…”

Steve didn’t reply, but Bucky knew he was there because he could hear his breathing.

“I killed Howard and Maria Stark,” he told Steve, his voice flat and emotionless. He waited for the other shoe to drop and for Steve to voice his disgust.

Instead, Steve sighed. “They killed the Starks, not you.”

Bucky felt himself slip back into a memory as his hold on the phone faltered. Darcy grabbed for him when he stumbled back. A new memory of a hand-to-hand fight overwhelmed him so much that he thought he could feel the crushing blow to his face as the soldier attacked him. There was screaming and then an alarm. The soldiers had gone off track; they were no longer under control. Karpov pulled him up by the back of his jacket and used him as a shield until they were behind a gate. The slamming of the gate coincided with another scream.

“Bucky. Bucky,” Darcy said, a hand on his cheek. Her other hand held the cell phone. He snatched it back from her and pressed it to his ear only to hear Steve calling his name as well.

“There are five soldiers like me in Siberia. Oh god,” he groaned, bending over at the waist. “I hope they haven’t deployed them. We have to go check. We have to…”

“Bucky,” Steve said, interrupting. “Bucky, stop. What are you talking about?”

“HYDRA. They had me steal the serum from Stark and they used it to make five more like me. They were in cryostasis in the Siberia facility last I can remember. They were unstable and had to be put back under until a workaround could be found.”

Steve voice was sharp and clear when he said, “So whoever killed Karpov probably knows about them.”

“And has the book.” Bucky turned away from Darcy and ran a hand through his hair. “You have to get the book.”

“What book?”

“The book with the trigger words. The words control them, control _me_.” Bucky shook his head. “I knew this would happen.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Just calm down, Buck.” The old shortened version of his nickname that no one had used for years brought Bucky back to the present. “Calm down,” Steve said. “Do you remember the coordinates for the facility?”

Bucky rattled them off without pause. He’d thought he was done remembering. He’d thought the index cards were a complete account of his sordid history with HYDRA. And yet, here was something new, something just unearthed. It made him sick to his stomach. What other gruesome surprises did his fucked up mind hold?

“Give the phone to Darcy and do what she says,” Steve told Bucky.

“What is she going to say?” Bucky asked, fear settling into his stomach. Was he going to be turned in? Were they going to discard him now that they had the information and knew it wasn’t him?

“She’s going to take you to a safe house. We have another problem.”

“What problem?”

“The King of Wakanda was killed in the blast in Vienna. His son, T’Challa, wants revenge. I’ve been trying to track him down to explain, but… I can’t find him. I don’t know who we can trust at the Avengers facility. Darcy is going to take you to a safe house.”

“No. I’ll leave. I’m not involving her in this again.”

Steve’s voice was stern when he said, “Hand the phone to her, Bucky.”

“No. I’m leaving.”

He felt pressure on his left wrist and looked down to see her delicate fingers wrapped around it. “You’re not leaving without me. Give me the phone,” she said, steel in her eyes.

Bucky felt despair welling up in him. “No, doll. No. You can’t do this with me again. Please.”

“This isn’t the same. We have help this time. Give me the phone.”

He handed it to her and tried to pull away, but only succeeded in jerking her into his body. She smacked up against his arm with a gasp. For a moment Bucky feared he might have hurt her, but she just wrapped her arm around his and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Steve?” She listened to him talk for a moment. Bucky would have been able to hear if it weren’t for the roaring in his ears as he thought of how badly he’d fucked this up. Now she was in danger again. He’d just wanted her to understand that it wasn’t him, that he wasn’t the bomber. “Okay, okay. Yes, I know. We’ll leave now.” There was a pause before she said, “I understand. We’ll be fine. Promise.”

She disconnected but didn’t let go of his arm. She had herself pressed down the length of his side. “Darcy, please,” Bucky said. “Stay here. Stay safe.”

“There’s a safe house a couple hours away in Connecticut. I stayed there for a couple of months after… after what happened with us. Only a few people know I was there, so it will be safe.” She ran into the bedroom and grabbed a bag before running back to the doorway to make sure he was still standing in her living room. “Please don’t leave me again, Bucky.”

Her plea was heartfelt and made him want to reach out for her, pull her into his arms again. Only minutes earlier, she’d been straddling one of his thighs while he pressed his nose into her sternum right between her breasts. She’d been _right there_ just like in all those fantasies he’d entertained when he’d been lying in bed at night and his mind had drifted to Darcy Lewis. “I won’t,” he said, his voice sounding strangled and weak.

When she emerged from the bedroom again, she was pulling on a pair of black pants with an elastic waist and a small bag was slung over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said, twisting her foot down on a pair of sneakers by the door.

“How are we going to get there?”

She grabbed keys from the hook by the door. “We’re going to borrow one of the cars. Come on.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I should be helping Steve,” he said, pressing the gas pedal down as he sped up and passed an R.V. towing a small car. “I should be going to Siberia to deal with the mess I left behind.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Darcy said, glancing over at the man in the driver’s seat. “You need to stop taking responsibility for HYDRA’s problems. You didn’t create the mess. You were part of the mess.”

He smiled and shook his head, but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Thanks for that, doll. Makes me feel real good about myself.”

Darcy poked his right arm and smiled back at him when he glanced over. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re too sweet to say anything bad about me,” he replied before turning his attention back to the highway.

She snorted and said, “I think you got me all wrong. I’m not _that_ sweet.”

He adjusted his hands on the wheel as his jaw tightened. Darcy wondered what he was thinking about. Was their little situation on the couch back at her place on his mind like it was on hers? What was that about anyway? She’d acted on instinct, half-expecting him to gently push her off his lap, not wrap his arms around her like she was the thing he wanted the most.

“What good does hiding do? I’ve been doing that for two years and it ain’t helped at all. I’m still here, still being hunted.” He ran a hand absently through his hair. Darcy licked her lips as she tried not to think about the beard starting to grow on his jawline or the muscles in his right arm or the way he was so careful when he touched her with that cybernetic hand. She also tried not to think about the way he’d kissed her in Puente Antiguo. It’d been two freaking years, and it was still heavy on her mind.

She shook her head as if to clear the thoughts and said, “We just need to keep our heads down until Steve can get proof that you’re not the bomber.”

“And what if he shows up in Siberia late? What if the bomber--whoever that is--beats him and takes control of those… things?”

“He’ll take them out. Surely you’ve seen Steve fight. He’s a maniac.”

Bucky let out a frustrated chuckle and shook his head. “Doll, you don’t know how dangerous these things are. They’re like I was, but worse. They’re… they were never under control. They don’t know when to stop.”

“He has backup. Sam is with him.”

“Sam’s human. How can he–”

“He’s amazing,” she said, cutting him off. “And Steve trusts him. And what if Steve and Sam get there first? Maybe we’ve got this all wrong and this bomber is coming for you. You said he has the trigger words that might put you back into that state of hypnosis. What if it’s you he wants because he needs you to help control those other five?”

“Then I need to get as far from you as possible, Darcy.”

“Look,” she said, reaching out and laying a hand on his knee, “no one will know about the safe house. We’ll stay there until we hear from Steve. He’ll sort out the Siberia situation and reason with T’Challa and...and it’ll be okay. Right?”

“Steve didn’t sign the Accords. He’s rogue now, and if he helps me then it’ll make it even worse for him.”

She sighed and squeezed his knee. It said something about how far he’d come that he didn’t tense up or pull away from her. “We don’t know what he’s going to find or who bombed the Accords ceremony. We don’t know if that is going to change things. We just need to wait, Bucky. One day at a time just like before. Just like the first time you and I did this thing.”

“You sound like you missed this,” he said, glancing over at her.

Darcy smiled at him and settled her temple against the headrest. “I did miss it because I missed you. I did not, however, miss people shooting at me. So, this time, let’s try to keep that to a minimum, yeah?”

He looked over again, one side of his mouth quirking up in a small smile before he turned his focus back to the road. “I’d like that, too. I just don’t think you’re being realistic about the future, doll. They ain’t gonna listen to Steve saying I’m some altar boy.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes at his handsome profile. “ _I’ll_ help you. I’ll make them listen to your story. If they know you like I do, you’ll be given immunity for everything.”

“You can’t work miracles, doll.”

“Watch me, Bucky. Just watch me.”


	17. Chapter 17

 

> _“I’m a mess and I will always be. Do you want to stick around and watch me drown?” - Dennis Lloyd (Leftovers)_

The safehouse was almost exactly like she’d left it nearly two years ago. She’d spent two of the most boring months of her life there with her head down in hopes that HYDRA would take her off their wanted list. She’d had a two-week visit from Jane at the beginning of the stay. Steve, Natasha, and Sam had also stopped by throughout to check on her, but most of the time had been spent alone and thinking about what was going to happen to Bucky. Needless to say, her memories of the small ranch at the end of a cul-de-sac in a residential neighborhood were not happy ones.

Bucky parked in the neighborhood behind the one the house was in, and they hiked through the woods for the quarter of a mile it took to get to there. He helped her jump the privacy fence around the backyard and watched as she slid aside a piece of siding beside the back door to reveal a retina scanner.

“It should still work,” Darcy told him, holding her eye open until the computer beeped its confirmation and unlocked the door.

“How long were you here?” he asked as they entered the dark house.

Darcy made sure the curtains were drawn in the kitchen and living room at the front of the house before turning on the lights. “About two months right after… after you left,” she said, blinking to adjust to the bright lights in the kitchen. He was standing across the small table from her.

“I hope you haven't been locked up because of what I did,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“Not really. I’ve been careful, but… yeah, I’ve been into town by myself and stuff. I mean, I definitely carry my Taser everywhere now, but it hasn’t been bad. Honestly, Bucky, I’m glad it all happened the way it did. Not you leaving, but meeting you and all that. It was good for me.”

He stepped around the table and shook his head. “You got a strange way of looking at things, doll.”

When he stopped a couple feet from her, she looked up into his eyes. “I don’t regret it… like, in general. There are things I’d take back, but not all of it.”

“What would you take back?”

“Calling Jane on my cell. Not packing my favorite pair of jeans when we were rushing to get out of my apartment. Letting you go into that warehouse in Puente Antiguo so you could dump me. You know, the usual things a girl regrets.”

He smiled at her. “The usual things, huh?”

Darcy grinned as she chewed on her lower lip. “Yep,” she said.

He pulled out a chair and sat down so he could look up at her. “You know, doll, I’ve done a lot of thinking about how crazy it is that out of everyone I could have come across back then when I was mostly out of my mind, I came across the right person.”

She tilted her head and raised her brows. “I’m the right person?”

“There’s no one who would have been better, no one who could have done what you did.”

She stepped forward until she was almost between his knees. “What did I do?”

“Everything,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re perfect.”

This made her laugh _and_ made her heart beat faster. “This is very new. I’ve never been accused of being perfect.”

“You are,” he said, looking up at her with nothing but clear blue eyes that told her the truth. Darcy wasn’t sure she could breathe, much less string together words that made sense and were relevant to the conversation.

Her phone beeped and she almost felt relief at the interruption. He was intense, especially when all the focus was on her. “It’s Steve,” she said.

Bucky’s demeanor changed quickly as he sat up straighter and pressed his lips into a thin line. “What is it?” he asked.

“Just checking on us. They’re on their way to Siberia.” She texted Steve and tucked the phone back into her pocket.

Bucky pushed the chair back away from her and stood up. “I should be with him,” he said, pacing the floor of the small kitchen. “That punk can’t take on everything alone.”

“He’s not alone. They called in backup--Natasha and Clint. She signed the Accords, but she’s going on the low and hoping Ross and his cronies won’t find out. Tony can’t go because he’s at a State dinner with Ross and covering for Natasha. Like, Tony’s a shithead sometimes, but he’s a good guy. He’d go if he could.”

“Who are these people?” he asked, turning to look at her.

She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “They’re good people who have fought with Steve. I think you’ve gone up against Natasha before.”

“Redhead in black?”

“Yep.”

“She’s good,” he said.

Darcy laughed. “She is. Clint is an excellent marksman. Sam–-you know who Sam is, right?”

“Yeah. The ones with the wings.”

“I’d feel better if Wanda and Vision could go, but they’re under lockdown. Vision is… he’s tough sometimes. He used to be a computer program, but he got put into a body and now he’s _almost_ human. He’s super logical, which can be frustrating when logic doesn’t really help. Wanda can move stuff with her mind. It’s crazy.” Darcy waved her hand in the air, dismissing the impromptu introduction. “You’ll meet them all one day.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

Darcy leveled her gaze on him. “Because I’ll shoot you in the leg if you try to run away again.”

The tension and stress in the air seemed to dissipate as he chuckled at her threat.

“Or taze you. Probably taze. I’d rather not hurt you since you’re one of my favorite people.”

Bucky looked at her through his lashes and gave her a sweet smile that would have had her asking him when and where she could drop her panties if they were in a less dangerous situation. “One of your favorite people, huh?” he murmured.

“Okay. So, maybe that’s not exactly accurate. You’re probably my favorite person.”

He shook his head, but the smile was still curling the corners of his mouth up. “You sure you’re in your right mind, Darcy?”

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this chick barely knows you. Well, I contend that stressful situations help you get to know someone really well, really fast. And, buddy, we were in one hell of a stressful situation a couple years ago.” She said it all as she walked into the living room and dropped back into the familiar cushions of the couch.

“We were. And I don’t think that at all. You know me better than anyone,” he said, standing in the middle of the floor and watching her shift to get comfortable.

Darcy raised her brows. “Not better than Steve.”

“Yes, better than Steve. He might know Bucky from seventy years ago, but… not who I am now.”

“Sit down and tell me the difference,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sun’s coming up,” Bucky said sitting down and looking from the clock on the wall to the light shining through the curtain.

Darcy yawned and stretched her arms into the air. “I know,” she told him, “it’s like old times. Sleeping during the day, driving at night, trying to convince you that we didn’t need to keep watch, wondering how long you could go without sleep.”

The way she looked at him made Bucky feel like a real person, not just a ghost who was still haunting the world and trying to figure out how to make amends for all the wrong he’d done. “It’s been a couple days at least,” he admitted.

Darcy lifted her feet up so she could sit cross-legged on the couch, facing him as he sat at the other end. “Bucky, two days is too much. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Then tell me about Steve’s Bucky and my Bucky.”

His heart nearly thumped right out of his chest at the way she’d phrased it. “Your Bucky?”

“Yeah. You. You’re my Bucky.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the matter-of-fact way she said it, at the way she just accepted him without question. “I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“When I took the job with Jane in grad school, I was pretty chill about life. Like, coasting by with average grades was okay with me. I think I was pretty self-centered, too.”

The admission surprised him. “You’re anything but that, doll.”

She smiled at him. “That’s good to hear. I think all the shit that has happened has changed me. I mean, okay, I call it shit, but it’s not all bad. Like, getting to know people who I’d never have talked to before or never have met without all the crazy stuff with Thor and whatever… all that helped me be less… less… obsessed with the things that don’t matter and just clutter up your head.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like how much money is in your bank account or what happened at so-and-so’s party last weekend or worrying about keeping up with friends and getting a nice car or a nice job or whatever will impress people. Like, that stuff is… it’s not what matters.”

“What matters?”

“People. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t some flaming bitch back when I was twenty-two, but you can bet I was more worried about petty shit than world-ending shit. I don’t know, maybe I have perspective now. My eyes have been opened to the realities of the world.”

Bucky didn’t like the sound of that at all and he said as much by telling her, “That’s a shame, Darcy.”

She pulled her head back. “A shame? No way, dude. That’s a blessing. Who wants to be in the dark? Look, I thought I wanted to be. You found me in D.C. trying to cover my eyes and do the nine to five like every other good little person who stays in their lane. I was dying by small degrees every day.”

“You’re saying this to make me feel better,” Bucky whispered.

Darcy chuckled and pushed herself forward until she could sit beside him, their thighs touching. “No, I’m not,” she said before wiggling to get more comfortable. “Is this okay? I mean, I know the lights are on, but you seemed pretty okay with touching earlier.”

“This is good. This is perfect,” he said, lifting up his right arm so she could settle into the crook of his shoulder and lay her head back against him.

“So, yeah,” she said, “I’m all about being in the moment now. Helping people, making things better. _Listening_ ,” she added with emphasis and a poke of her fingertip against his ribs.

Bucky laughed softly under his breath before tilting his head down to smell her hair. It made him flash back to the moment in her apartment with her in nothing but that T-shirt as she straddled his leg and pulled him up against her body. He closed his eyes as the smell of her hair and the scent of the shirt pressed against her breasts made the present bleed into the past. He cleared his throat and said, “I used to think I had it all figured out. Everything was easy--friends, school, girls, jobs, boot camp. It was… a piece of cake. And then real life caught up with me.”

“The war?”

“Mmm,” he agreed, “the war and getting captured that first time and… it was never the same after that. I tried to put on a brave face for Steve and everyone else, but… yeah, it wasn’t ever the way it had been. I bet a lot of kids, especially ones that join the service, get caught up in it like that, though. You think you’re invincible and then… life knocks you on your ass.”

“Growing up in a nutshell, dude,” Darcy agreed. “Except you got it, like, times a hundred.”

For some strange reason, this made him chuckle. “Yeah, times a hundred,” he agreed. “I’m afraid Steve won’t even recognize me.”

She ran her fingers over his knee. “What do you mean?”

“I used to be happy.”

Darcy turned toward him and wrapped her arm around his midsection. “Oh, Bucky,” she whispered as she laid her cheek against his chest. “Maybe that’s just a matter of time. You’ll get there again, but you can’t shut people out. That’s not how you get your life back.”

He dropped his arm down around her back and pulled her closer. It felt so good to have her against him. “I don’t think I can get my life back.”

“Okay,” she said, “maybe not Bucky circa nineteen-forty-two, but how about Bucky circa two-thousand-sixteen?”

“Who’s that guy supposed to be?” he asked with a twisted smile that she couldn’t even see.

“Hmmm,” she said, poking him in the ribs again with the hand she had wrapped around his side. “Well, he’s protective of people he cares about… right?”

Was she asking if he cared for her? He’d said it before and he had no problem saying it again. “Right,” Bucky agreed.

“And he’s smart and resourceful and just a little paranoid, but, like, has reasons so I can’t blame him.”

Bucky tilted his head back and tried to blink away the tears that were stinging his eyes. Instead of responding, he just chuckled at the last bit of her comment.

“And he’s pretty fucking resilient since he’s been through a lot. And kind; he’s kind despite people not being very kind to him.”

“I don’t know–”

“And he’s also very hot. Hot to the touch, but also sexy hot. Like, uh, all those muscles are kinda overkill if you’re trying to impress me, but I appreciate them anyway.”

This made him laugh even as a tear ran down his cheek. “I think the muscles are for fighting, not for you,” he teased.

“Oh, they can be for both. The goal is less fighting, more oogling.”

“Oogling?” he asked with a smile.

She pinched his side right where he was ticklish, making him jump. “You think I haven’t been oogling you?”

He looked down at her when she lifted her face off his chest so she could look up at him. “You think _I_ haven’t been oogling _you_?” he asked, repeating her question back.

Darcy winked at him and said, “I knew that’s why you stayed up to, quote, _keep watch_.”

Bucky dipped his head down until he could brush his lips over her soft, pliant ones. Darcy’s soft exhale undid him, and he lifted his chin just enough to kiss her good and proper, pressing their lips together in something sweet and chaste until she parted hers and tentatively touched the seam of his mouth with her tongue.

A needy noise that was something between a growl and a moan surfaced from somewhere deep in his throat, despite Bucky trying not to make a sound. The moment was so delicate and she was so perfect and anything might upset the balance. Darcy opened her mouth and slipped her tongue between his lips just as she brought her hand up to card her fingers through his hair. He let the tension he’d been holding in his body drain away and he kissed her back, as he tasted the butterscotch candies she’d been sucking on in the car all the way up to Connecticut.

It was just like riding a bike. The kiss by the payphone before he’d run away had been out of desperation, and he hadn’t really worried all that much about technique since he’d thought he’d never face her again. Now it was two years later and he was trying to make it all perfect for her because he wanted to stick around. Want to and can are two different things, his mind reminded him. He wanted to, though. That was what really mattered. Bucky caressed her cheek with his left hand, surprised she didn’t even flinch when the metal touched her face. Instead, she leaned back and pulled in a breath of air before turned her head to brush her lips over the metal plates. He watched as she kissed his palm. The wonder of adoration twisted quickly to disgust as he remembered all the things he’d done with that hand. All the bones he’d broken, necks he’d crushed, blood he’d touched.

“Darcy,” he said, pulling his hand away from her and swallowing the panic welling up in his chest. “Darcy, please.” Bucky wasn’t sure how to express what he was trying to say. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say.

Somehow, though, she seemed to get it immediately. She slipped her hand out of his hair and let her fingertips trail along his neck before pulling away. “You okay?” she whispered, tucking her dark hair behind her ears.

“We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…”

“Why?” she asked. It wasn’t a challenge or an accusation; it was an honest question, but he didn’t know how to answer it.

Bucky shook his head. “After all the things this hand has done?” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied, settling back into her original spot next to him, his right arm draped over her shoulders.

“But it does.”

She reached over and pulled his left hand into her lap, pushing his fingers back so they were extended and she could trace the seams of the plates with her index finger. “No, it doesn’t. This is yours now, not theirs.”

He inhaled deeply, trying to fill his chest enough that the tightness would leave it. “I’m afraid,” he whispered into the still air of the house.

“Of what?”

Bucky pressed his lips together and looked up at the ceiling. “The future, everything. This can’t last even if I want it to.”

“Plan B?” she asked.

He closed his eyes. “I wish, doll. I wish.”

“Then we’ll do Plan A, and I’ll fight for you. I’ll make them cut you a break.” She slid the fingers of her right hand between the fingers of his left. “No strings attached. You don’t owe me or anyone else a damn thing.”

“Darcy, I owe you everything,” he said, pressing his nose into her hair.

“Nope,” she said. “You don’t have to do this alone, Bucky. Let me help you.”

“How?” It was a stupid question. He wasn’t even sure why he asked it.

“Close your eyes and get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Bucky looked down at the ball of their hands, his silver thumb and then her flesh one, his metal index finger and then the soft skin of hers. And on and on, like they were inseparable. “Okay,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head.

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy was drifting off against Bucky’s warm body, his deep, rhythmic breaths lulling her into a sense of security and peace when she heard the click of the back door and the muted buzzing of the alarm before it cut off abruptly. She was wide awake and off the couch within a second. “Bucky,” she hissed, reaching out for him.

He grabbed her hand, eyes wide and fearful. “Darcy?” he said, glancing around the room.

“Someone is here,” she whispered. Just as soon as the words left her mouth, Bucky pushed her to the side. Darcy screamed as she smacked into the armchair, tipping it and hitting the floor hard. A shadowy figure, big and intimidating, launched itself through the air and took Bucky down. They fell back against the couch in a mess of arms and legs. “Stop!” she screamed right before she saw the flash of metallic claws on the figure’s hands. “No!”

Bucky kicked the man off him, breaking the coffee table in the process. The man crouched on the ground, his muscles tensed and ready to spring at Bucky again once the opportunity presented itself. They were too fast for her; Darcy was just pushing herself up to her knees with the help of the overturned armchair.

“Why did you kill my father?” the man in black said, his accent betraying exactly who he was if his words hadn’t.

“I didn’t,” Bucky said, reaching out to grab one of the clawed hands as T’Challa launched himself across the room again. “I swear to you I didn’t.” His voice was a growl, his teeth clenched with the strain it took to hold T’Challa back.

“Stop!” Darcy screamed again. “Stop it! It wasn’t him.”

“Why?” T’Challa asked Bucky, raising his knee so he could hit Bucky’s side and bring him to one knee in the middle of the floor. “Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t,” Bucky growled again.

Darcy stumbled to her feet and reached out to grab T’Challa’s shoulder. She needed to get between them. He wasn’t an enemy; she had faith he wouldn’t hurt her if she could just put herself between them long enough to make him listen.

“No!” Bucky screamed, twisting and flipping T’Challa over. The move rolled them both away from Darcy but left Bucky open. He grunted as T’Challa’s claws dug into his side.

“Bucky, no!” she screamed, panic welling up in her as she saw the wet spot on his torn shirt. She caught sight of the bloody skin beneath for just a fraction of a moment before Bucky blocked another blow from T’Challa with his arm.

“I didn’t set the bomb,” Bucky said again, straining as he threw his head to one side, narrowly avoiding T’Challa’s claws as they came for his neck.

“There is evidence. You serve HYDRA,” T’Challa said through clenched teeth, slamming his fist down into the floorboards of the living room right next to Bucky’s head.

Darcy reached to grab the material of his suit, but it was so tight she could find no purchase or give to it. Her nails just scratched over the surface. “Stop it!” she screamed, bringing her fist down on T’Challa’s shoulder as Bucky gasped in pain. “Stop it, he’s innocent!” she insisted.

T’Challa swept his arm back and pushed her to the side. He could have done much worse, but the weight he did put behind it was enough to send her back onto her ass and sliding across the hardwood floor. Darcy’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to pull in air. The only saving grace was that her interference, small as it had been, had given Bucky enough leverage to push T’Challa off of him and roll to the side. He stood up, right hand pressed against his left side as blood dripped over his knuckles.

“Please, T’Challa! Please!” she begged, rolling onto her hip and trying to get to her feet.

Her use of his name seemed to resonate and still him for a moment. He leveled his gaze on Bucky. “Why are you not fighting me, murderer?” T’Challa demanded, standing not more than two yards away with his hands at his sides, the dangerous vibranium claws almost gleaming in the lamplight.

Darcy finally pushed herself to her feet, wincing at the pain in her shoulder.

“I remember every single person I’ve killed, and I didn’t kill your father,” Bucky said through heavy breaths. She stumbled between them, and Bucky immediately reached out to move her aside. “Darcy, no,” he said, fear lacing his words.

“He’s not fighting you because he’s not a murderer,” she said, pulling away from Bucky’s hands as he tried to move her again so she was no longer between the two of them.

“Darcy, right?” T’Challa said. “You’re mistaken, Darcy. He is HYDRA’s weapon. He is no friend of yours.”

She laughed as she tried to catch her breath. Extending a hand as if she were holding him off, she said, “Oh, boy, King Dude. You better sit down because I’ve got a story to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CamoMagnolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamoMagnolia/pseuds/CamoMagnolia) was kind enough to make a Spotify playlist of the songs quoted at the beginning of each chapter. If you'd like to listen, you can do so here:  
> <https://open.spotify.com/user/tmnsseajxtd09i3y56mevywqd/playlist/3LZgKaS8nq0RGHCiJrZENL?si=FqoNl7kwQXeqZAeuS2UVlA>
> 
> Four more chapters left! I'm sad it will be over, but I'm excited to move on to something new. I don't have any concrete plans for my next project, but I might do something short and cute and quick that involves Darcy and one of the guys. I haven't figured out which guy (maybe Bruce?), but I'm sure I'll blab about it on my Tumblr when I do. I also have some thoughts on a not-so-one-night-stand fic that involves Steve turning Darcy's world upside down. Suggestions and preferences welcome.


	18. Chapter 18

 

> _“You want love, but it’s love that you’re afraid of. Did you think that you were made of stone and find out you were wrong?” - The Afghan Whigs (You Want Love)_

T’Challa had refused to sit down, but he had allowed Darcy the time she needed to explain the bare bones of the situation, including a brief accounting of her history with Bucky and the current situation with Steve in Siberia trying to figure out what the hell was happening with the mysterious bomber.

“I do not understand the motivation behind the bombing. If this person intended to take control of these soldiers, why bring attention? Why do something so pointless?” T’Challa said when he finally let himself relax the muscles he’d held tense while preparing to fight Bucky.

He removed his mask and for the first time Darcy could see the grief in his eyes. “Fuck, dude,” she muttered as it suddenly hit her. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

T’Challa’s face twisted as he tried to figure out what emotion to follow. Darcy wanted to him follow the grief one, not the revenge one. “Why?” he said, looking between her and Bucky.

“Look, we don’t know,” she said, struggling to shrug off Bucky’s hands as he tried to remove her from between them again. “All we do know is that someone killed a former HYDRA Colonel who headed up their Winter Soldier program and took something from him that he’d hidden in a wall. Bucky thinks it was the book with triggers words that control the soldiers, including him. We don’t know if this person was trying to flush him out by impersonating him at the ceremony or what. If you don’t believe me, then call Tony Stark. Tell him to get him in touch with Steve Rogers. I’d call him myself, but I don’t think you completely trust me right now. Steve will tell you everything I just did.”

“You said he’s in Siberia.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, starting to relax. Bucky forced her to the side so she was no longer between them. “Stop,” she told him looking over her shoulder. “Stop trying to move me around. He’s not after me; he’s after you.”

“Exactly,” Bucky said. “And you don’t need to get caught in the middle. I have enough blood on my hands; I don’t want yours, too.”

“I will not hurt her,” T’Challa said. They were the first words he’d directed at Bucky since the fighting had stopped. “You have my word,” he added with a nod of his head.

Bucky swallowed and pulled in a deep breath. “I’ll kill you if you touch her,” he told T’Challa.

“Understood,” T’Challa replied.

“Soooo, do you believe me?” she asked. “Do you wanna phone a friend or whatever? Because I’m being straight with you; Bucky did not kill your father.”

Her phone started ringing and all three of them jumped at the sudden trilling noise.

“Uh, it’s my phone. Can someone find it?”

T’Challa flipped the armchair over with his foot to reveal her cell phone with a crack across the screen.

Darcy exhaled a sigh of relief before answering it with, “Steve? Are you okay?”

“Are _you_ okay? Darcy, you need to get out of the safehouse, you’ve been compromised. Someone gave T’Challa your coordinates and he’s–”

“He’s already here,” she told Steve. “Who ratted us out?”

“Someone in Communications. They saw you leave with Bucky and thought he’d abducted you. This person called that person who tried to get Vision and Wanda involved, but Vision is–”

“By the book,” Darcy finished for him. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, when T’Challa came along looking for information, they were only too willing to ask for help since none of us were answering. It was... Well, it was a clusterfuck,” Steve said with a sigh. “The right hand didn’t know what the left was doing.”

“Are you the right hand or the left hand in this analogy?”

“Darcy, shut up.” He sounded weary and upset.

“T’Challa is cool for now, but it’d be really awesome if you tell me that you found the real bomber,” she told him, looking between the two men in the trashed living room.

“Yeah, I found him. And I found the five soldiers that Bucky said would be here. They had bullets through their heads.”

“What? I thought the bomber was after them?”

“The bomber was the one who killed them,” Steve said. She could tell he was holding something back and she didn’t like it.

“Steve, are you okay?”

She heard his footsteps as he walked into another room. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “Darcy, the man who planted the bomb was from Sokovia. His family died while we were fighting Ultron.”

“So what?” she whispered back, speaking softly because Steve was. “So he wants to kill more innocent people to get revenge?”

“He wanted to get us here to show us a tape.”

“What?”

Steve cleared his throat and said, “I think he wanted to get Tony here, but it just didn’t work out that way. With the Accords and all, Tony’s hands are tied. But… Well, the tape was security footage of…” Steve inhaled a big breath before exhaling it slowly. “It was footage of Bucky.”

It all clicked into place in Darcy’s head. “It was the footage of him faking the car crash and killing Howard and Maria Stark,” she said, looking up to meet Bucky’s eyes. He looked hopeless as her side of the conversation started making sense to him.

“How did you know?” Steve asked.

“Bucky told me. He told me that Karpov ordered him to kill the Starks and take the serum.”

“How long have you known?”

“I knew about the Starks back when we did this the first time around. Bucky didn’t remember the other bits until now, until yesterday. Or today. What day is it?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. We need to keep this under wraps for now. I don’t know how Tony will react.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve kept my mouth shut for this long. No reason I can’t continue to keep it shut.” She looked over at T’Challa. “Hey, why don’t you tell our most honorable and dignified guest here all that shit you just told me. I kinda already let the major cat out of the bag, but his highness or whatever seems like a good guy. I think he could keep his mouth shut, too.”

“Darcy,” Steve protested.

“I’m serious, Steve. I think it’s better coming from you. I mean, who the hell am I, right? You’re the man in charge. Tell His Highness that you got the culprit. We can talk about the Tony situation later.”

“Fine,” he said. “Would you please try not to lose Bucky this time?”

She looked over at Bucky who seemed to be in misery and not because of the bleeding wounds on his side. “I’m going to handcuff myself to him. Don’t worry,” she told Steve before handing the cell phone to a confused T’Challa.

“What happened?” Bucky asked when she turned back around to face him. “What did I do?”

Darcy waved off his question. “You didn’t do anything, Bucky. The Winter Soldiers are dead. The bomber shot them in the head before Steve even got to the facility in Siberia. He’s some disgruntled dude from Sokovia who thought the way to avenge his family was to kill a bunch of innocent people at the ceremony in Vienna.” She reached out to pull his hand away from his side. “Let me see,” she murmured.

Bucky refused to move his hand. Instead, he said, “And what about the Starks?”

“This guy thought Tony would show up and he could play the footage of you killing them for him and Steve. Guess he thought it would put some kinda wedge in the relationship, break up the band, maybe.”

“Steve knows, then?”

“Yeah, he knows.” Darcy wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Let me see. This is a lot of blood, Bucky.”

“And?” Bucky asked. “What about Steve?”

“Steve’s fine.”

“I mean about the video. What did he say?”

Darcy furrowed her brows as she looked up into his eyes. “That we need to keep it under wraps until we can tell Tony in as good a way as possible. Like, ease him into the idea that his parents were killed by HYDRA, not a car crash.”

“Killed by me.”

Darcy frowned. “Killed by HYDRA. Steve knows the difference and so do I. I wish you’d figure it out, too. We just need to find the right time and place to tell Tony. It’s gonna get out eventually, but for now we can control it.”

“Maybe—maybe we should tell Stark and let him do what he wants to me,” Bucky said the words softly under his breath.

“Maybe I should kick your ass for even thinking that. Bucky, let me help you. Let Steve and Sam and Natasha and Clint and Wanda help you. I’d say let Vision help you, too, but that dude’s still figuring himself out, so he’d in no position to do the empathy thing.” She smiled up at him and touched the tip of his nose with her finger. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Bucky’s eyes shifted so he was looking over her shoulder. Darcy turned around to see T’Challa standing a few feet away with her phone in his hand. Silently he offered it to her. “Thank you for stopping me, Darcy,” he said, voice solemn. “I apologize if I hurt you.”

She rolled her shoulder that had been aching a bit since the attack. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge, Your Highness.”

T’Challa lifted his gaze to meet Bucky’s. “My apologies to you, as well. I’m afraid my… desire for vengeance blinded me.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’ve done what you accuse me of and more, just not to _your_ father.”

Nodding once, T’Challa said, “I don’t know what you’ve been through, just what she’s told me, but one day I hope you are able to see the difference between fault and responsibility.”

“They’re both mine,” Bucky replied.

T’Challa shook his head. “The fault lies with those who controlled you with manipulations. The responsibility is yours to bear. Perhaps you can find a way to balance what you were responsible for with better deeds of the man you have become.”

Darcy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was what she’d been trying to say all along, but he’d managed to phrase it so succinctly and eloquently that it’d rendered her speechless.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured, dropping his gaze and closing his eyes.

She caught T’Challa’s gaze and he gave her a nod. “I will be meeting Steve Rogers in Vienna. I would like a word with this man he’s captured.”

“When you say word, do you mean punch in the face?” she asked.

He smiled. “No, I’m done with these games of revenge. I let it consume me when I should have known better. I’ll see him tried and sentenced for the lives he’s taken.”

With a nod of his head, he turned to leave the way he’d come in—out the back door. “Good luck, Your Highness,” Darcy called out after him. Once he was gone, she turned to look at Bucky. His head was down and his eyes were closed. “You’re not going to try to leave me again, are you?”

He shook his head before opening his eyes to look at her face. “No,” he whispered.

“Good,” Darcy replied, “because I’m too tired to chase you. Now, will you come in the bathroom and let me look at your side. Has the bleeding stopped?”

He didn’t reply, but he let her take his left hand in hers and pull him down the hallway to a small bathroom that wasn’t much different than the last one they’d been in together in her apartment. Bucky sat on the toilet seat and watched her open the medicine cabinet to pull out gauze and tape and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Here,” she said, dropping everything into the sink and leaning over to pull up the hem of his shirt. “Lift your arms.” When he did as she’d said, she smiled at him and said, “This is just like old times. Remember in my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “Feels like forever ago and just yesterday.”

Darcy pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the floor before dropping to her knees in front of him with a washcloth and the bottle of alcohol. “At least we’re not digging out a bullet this time,” she said.

“Doll,” he whispered, cupping her cheek with his left hand because the right was bloody, “why are you doing this for me?”

“Because I care about you,” she replied without missing a beat. “Now move your arm so I can clean up the wounds.”

He did what she said, even though she suspected the wounds would have healed themselves within an hour with or without her help. “You don’t have to be so gentle,” he whispered as she carefully affixed the gauze with white tape. “I ain’t gonna break.”

“Well, I’m not HYDRA,” she said, a hand on his knee as she looked up into his eyes. “Just because you won’t break doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a little TLC now and then.”

Bucky tilted his head. “TLC?”

“Technically, a nineties R&B group, but I was using it as an acronym for tender, loving care,” she said, winking at him.

Bucky smiled back. “What’s an R&B group?”

“Oh, I’ve got so much to show you, Bucky. So much. I don’t even know where to start.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Steve showed up the dark and early hours the next morning, Darcy was asleep in the bedroom and Bucky had cleaned up what he could of the living room. The coffee table was in a pile by the door, broken beyond repair, and there were two holes in the hardwood he’d covered with a rug and one of the armchairs.

“Buck?” Steve asked, standing in the front doorway. Bucky had heard him pull up outside and was pacing the floor, wondering what Steve would say or do. Part of him wished Darcy was there beside him, and another part of him didn’t want her to witness it if things turned out bad.

“Hey, punk,” he whispered, dropping his eyes to the floor between their feet, unable to hold Steve’s gaze.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, voice thick with emotion. It surprised Bucky, and he looked up to finally take in the man he’d been through so much with.

“Yeah, punk, I’m okay. Sorry… sorry about…” Bucky felt the sting of tears in his eyes. “Sorry about it all,” he finished with a whisper.

Steve stepped forward like he was going to cross the room and hug him, but stopped just a few feet shy. “Don’t apologize. None of it was your fault. Darcy—she told me what happened. You ain’t gotta explain anything, Bucky. Nothing.”

“Not even for punching you in the face?” Bucky asked with a broken laugh as he swiped the wetness from his eyes.

Steve laughed and shook his head. “Not even for that, ya jerk.” He reached out and clapped Bucky on the shoulder twice, letting his hand linger there, his fingers wrapped around Bucky’s only flesh and blood arm.

Lifting his cybernetic arm slowly, he laid it against Steve’s arm and forced a smile that might have looked twisted and contorted even if it was genuine. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he told Steve. There was no need to say who; there was only one her in Bucky’s world.

“She was real pissed when you left,” Steve said, squeezing Bucky’s arm. “I was, too.” He paused before saying, “You gonna stick around this time?”

“As much as I can,” Bucky replied. “Got a lot to atone for. I’m guessing I’m near the top of the most wanted list.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “about that. Did Darcy tell you she’s been working on a project?”

“No. What project?”

Steve smiled and released his friend. Bucky let his hand drop back to his side when he saw how pleased Steve looked. “She’s been talking to a lawyer on and off since we hired her to work for the Avengers. She didn’t tell you?”

“No. What lawyer?”

“She’s been building this case for you. She couldn’t finish it because it all hinges on you talking to some shrinks and getting testimony that you were held against your will, brainwashed, tortured, all that. But… Buck, it might work. She’s really smart.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, trying to wrap his head around what Steve had just told him. She’d been working on this even though he’d left her behind. He’d run and she’d still been trying to help him these past two years.

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder again. “I think she likes you. Which is good for you because I’d hate to be on her list of enemies.”

“Who says you aren’t, Cap?”

Bucky turned to see Darcy standing in the entrance to the hallway. Her hair was messy and her eyes looked tired. “Hey, Darcy,” Steve said with a smile.

“What?” she asked. “You aren’t going to correct me and tell me your name is _Steve_?”

“You look pretty tried, so I was gonna let it slide,” he told her.

Darcy walked over to stand between them and lifted up Bucky’s shirt where the gouges from the vibranium claws had been. Bucky watched Steve lift his brows as his gaze went from her hands on Bucky’s shirt to Bucky’s face. “They’re gone,” she said.

“It’s been hours. I heal fast,” he told her.

“You still got those files on your computer, Darcy?” Steve asked when she dropped Bucky’s shirt into the place and stepped back so she could see both of them.

“The legal ones? Yeah.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you tell him? Steve, that was supposed to be a fucking surprise.”

Steve laughed and shook his head at her. “He thinks he’s going to jail, Darcy. He deserves to know.”

She shot Steve a dirty look before sweeping her gaze over to Bucky. He could barely look at her and how perfect she was with her crazy hair and sleepy blue eyes and plump lips. “I’m not letting them put you in jail. I told you.”

“Didn’t know you’d been working on it all this time,” he whispered.

“Well, I figured one day if you ever came back that it might come in handy.” She smiled at him. “It feels good to be right.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile back. “I bet it does.”

Steve cleared his throat. “So, uh, bad news is that we’ve got some damage control to do. Zemo is in custody and waiting for a hearing in Vienna. I’ve gotta deal with that and the Accords. I don’t know if this mess with Zemo is going to help or hurt our case against them.”

“I have a file for that, too,” Darcy said. “While you were at Peggy’s funeral, I was losing my mind, so I started reading through all that bullshit. I think if we get some brains together, then we can tear it apart. I’ve already started.”

Steve put his hand on Darcy’s shoulder, and if it had been anyone but Steve, Bucky might have ripped that hand right off. “Darcy, if we take him back now, they’re going to force our hand and put him in jail while we try to prove our case that he’s not responsible.”

“No,” she said, her voice flat and brooking no argument. “That’s not happening. They aren’t locking him up.”

“Peggy died?” Bucky said, looking at Steve.

His friend pressed his lips together and nodded. “Her heart went. She had Alzheimer's there at the end.”

“Damn, Steve. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Wait, what are we gonna do about these assholes trying to lock Bucky up?” Darcy said.

“There’s a place up north in Nova Scotia,” Steve told her before glancing over at Bucky. “It belongs to Natasha, but she’s got some other name on the deed. Don’t ask. Buck, you could stay there until we can get this locked down.”

Darcy lifted her arm up and knocked Steve’s hand off her shoulder. “No,’ she said again. “Not unless I go with him.”

“Doll, you can’t–”

“Don’t doll me,” Darcy said. “I told you I was gonna handcuff myself to you if you try to run away again.”

“Darcy,” Steve said, trying to get her attention. “It isn’t running. He’s just gotta lay low for a couple weeks until we can get things lined up. It’s all a clusterfuck right now.”

“You know, I should have never taught you that word, Steven Rogers,” she said. “You cannot call everything a clusterfuck.”

Bucky looked from Steve to Darcy and then said, “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like he might be using it correctly.”

“I’m not letting you go by yourself,” she told Bucky.

“Don’t think we have a choice, doll.”

“Darcy, we need you to come back and get the legal stuff in line. You’re the person who knows the most about it. Honestly, you’re probably the person who’s read the most of the Accords among all of us.”

“I don’t like it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and Bucky thought he’d never seen such a stubborn woman in his life. He also thought he’d never seen a more beautiful woman, and couldn’t believe _she_ was fighting for _him_.

“I know that, Darcy,” Steve said, “but we don’t have a choice. It’s either or.”

“What if I go with him and work remotely?”

“No internet. And we need you here,” Steve said. “You know I’m right. We talked about this.”

Bucky could barely keep up. “You talked about what?” he asked Steve.

“Darcy and I talked about plans if we ever found you. We knew we’d need time to get things in line. This was always part of the plan.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I just thought I’d be able to go with him.”

Bucky felt his anxiety building over the thought of not being with her. He looked over at Steve and said, “Can I have a minute with her?”

His friend nodded and walked out the front door. Bucky could see him pacing the sidewalk as the sky got darker.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Darcy said once Steve was out of sight.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been working on a legal defense for me?”

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “Because I didn’t want you to worry about it. I wanted to do it all behind the scenes… just make it happen. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

“Doll, I owe you everything, and that ain’t a bad feeling. I don’t mind feeling that way,” he told her as he reached out and took her hand. “You can’t change everything for me. You got a job and you said you like what you’re doing. You can’t just pick up and run off to nowhere with me for who knows how long.”

“I was willing to do Plan B with you and that would have been forever.”

Her voice saying those words knocked him back on his heels. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered. Darcy squeezed his hand. “Okay, you go to Nova Scotia or wherever the hell and you better not leave. I’ll have Nat use her super spy skills and be my eyes and ears.”

He smiled. “You don’t trust me?”

“Uh, you fucking left me in Puente Antiguo.”

“Things were different then,” Bucky murmured. “But I’m not going anywhere, doll. I’ll be there until this is all done or until they come to lock me up. I promise you.”

“You’re not getting locked up,” she said, squeezing his hand again.

Bucky smiled at the fire in her eyes. “I believe you mean that.”

“You better just plain believe that, you jerk.”


	19. Chapter 19

 

> _“Sleep, don’t weep, my sweet love. Your face is all wet ‘cause our days were rough.” - Damien Rice (Sleep Don’t Weep)_

Sam had left with the psychiatrist. They’d taken the sheets of paper that contained so many revealing details of his life with them. This was the third person Steve had brought up to the tiny blue cabin. While on the property, Bucky couldn’t see any other houses or buildings, and no one could see him. Bucky had never felt more rested and relaxed. If it all ended here, then it would be okay. However, that didn’t mean his anxiety wasn’t still very much in play because of the legal battle being waged by Darcy and Steve

“Steve,” he said, asking his friend to stay behind for a moment instead of following the Sam and the psychiatrist.

“Yeah?” Steve said, hands resting on his belt.

“What happened to the rest of the cards?” Bucky asked, his voice quiet, pitched only for the other man’s ears.

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

They’d shown up that morning with a diminutive man in round glasses who had a briefcase. Much to Bucky’s discomfort, the briefcase contained photocopies of his index cards that he’d left in Darcy’s apartment when they’d fled. They were stacked three on a page, sometimes a fourth turned sideways along the right side of the paper. The man, who introduced himself as Doctor Friedman, had insisted on going through each of the cards with him. He took notes in the margins of the papers, but Bucky did not read the scribbled and cramped text. In fact, he avoided looking at the papers entirely.

“Half the cards were missing, Steve. The worst ones were missing,” Bucky murmured as he stepped closer. “Did he take them out?”

“No,” Steve replied. “That’s all the cards we have. What do you mean half of them are missing?”

“ _Over_ half. Most of them were about assassinations I’ve done.”

Steve shook his head. “Are you sure? Darcy–” He stopped talking and smiled before continuing. “Darcy handed those over to the psychiatrist. If some are missing, then it’s because she kept them. She told him those were the only ones—that you’d left them all with her.”

“Why?” Bucky asked.

“She’s protecting you.”

“Why?”

Steve chuckled. “She likes you. Never thought I'd see the day when you’d lose your touch with the ladies.”

Darcy was so much more than some woman, but he couldn't tell Steve that. He didn't even know what he meant by it himself.

“What happened between you two?” Steve asked.

Bucky exhaled a sharp breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't know how to answer that.”

“Don't know how to or don't want to?”

“Don't know how to. I… I don't know how to explain it. I owe her everything.”

Steve smiled and reached out to squeeze Bucky's shoulder. “I think she's sweet in you, Buck.”

“I know that, Steve,” he said, voice dry.

“You gonna do something about it when you can?”

“Who says I haven't?” Bucky replied.

Steve raised his brows in surprise. “Have you?”

Bucky dropped his gaze to the floor. “Not really. Maybe.”

Steve laughed. “What's that mean?”

“I don't fucking know, punk. Mind your own business and stay outta hers.”

“We're close to getting this legal battle done,” Steve said. “She's close.”

The way Steve said it made hope spark in Bucky's chest. “You think?”

“Yeah. The Accords are still a mess. I don't know what's gonna happen, but that's a–”

“Lemme guess,” Bucky said. “It's a clusterfuck.”

“Hey,” Steve protested with a chuckle, “don't poke fun at me. Darcy does that enough. What I was saying is that there ain't an easy fix for the Accords, but she's gonna get you immunity. She's just waiting for the paperwork to go through and this last shrink to file his report.”

Bucky felt like the weight he hadn't realized was on his chest had just been lifted, allowing him to breathe for the first time in decades. “You tell Stark about his parents?” he asked.

Steve nodded. “Yep.”

“And? How'd that go?”

“About as well as you'd think. Not real great.”

“Am I gonna have a problem? Do I need to leave?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. Darcy found out what he said about it and got in a car. She drove to the City behind my back and walked right into Tony’s office. Her and him, they pick at each other. They're alike in a lot of ways, but they'd deny it.”

“So?”

Steve shrugged. “So I don't know what she said to him, but he backed off. Said he didn't want you in the building his father built but promised not to try and kill you. Do I think he'd have your back in combat tomorrow? Probably not. Do I think he's gunning for your head? No, not after she had her say.”

“I don’t understand why this is so important to her. I don’t understand why _I’m_ so important to her,” Bucky said, feeling that tightness in his chest again.

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands on his hips. “You’d have to ask her, Buck. She’s been anxious to see you, I think. Always asks me to make sure you don’t run off on her again.”

“I wouldn’t,” Bucky replied. “She’s been too good to me for me to even think of it.” He chuckled. “Still don’t think I’m making her life any better, but…”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “but she’s got her own mind. You ain’t gonna tell her what’s good for her or not. If I’ve learned one thing over the past two years, I’ve learned that she’s, uh, got strong opinions on that.” After a long pause in which the two men stood in companionable silence, Steve lifted his gaze from the floor beneath them to Bucky’s face. “You in love with her?”

Bucky pressed his lips together, and the corners of his mouth pulled back, not up. It was more grimace than a smile. He shifted his eyes to the wall and then turned away from Steve, unable to find an answer he was willing to give.

It’d been three weeks since he’d seen her. Three weeks since she’d stood between him and T’Challa, putting herself in danger to save him. At night when he sat on the small couch in the living room and tried to distract himself with a book, his mind almost always wandered to Darcy in a T-shirt and panties. He fantasized about her straddling his lap and pushing him back into the couch cushions. He thought about wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close so he could feel the warm and the contours of her body, feel her breath on his face right before they kissed.

“Hey,” Steve said, hand heavy on Bucky’s shoulder, urging him to turn around. “I gotta go. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, grateful Steve hadn’t pushed for an answer to his question. He’d always been good about that sort of thing. Steve cared, but he wasn’t going to push you to spill your guts. It was probably because Steve wasn’t exactly the kind to spill his either.

Steve cleared his throat when Bucky turned around to face him. “I don’t know when it’ll be done, Buck. Could be next week, could be next month. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said again. “It’s fine. I understand.”

Steve smiled and turned around to walk out of the small house. A minute later, Bucky heard the car engine turn over and tires roll over the gravel drive. He was alone again, and it was a relief. Watching a complete stranger read some of the most intimate details of his life had been exhausting. Bucky put a hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and leaned against it with his eyes closed.

She’d taken the cards with the worst of his crimes out of the stack. She hadn’t even told Steve. She was smart; she knew there was only so much the government would be willing to overlook. Only so much the public could stomach before they turned on him. Not everyone was as forgiving as her. What had he ever done to deserve someone like that in his life?

 

* * *

 

 

Almost three weeks later and another visit from Sam with an attorney in a suit that probably cost upwards of a thousand dollars, Bucky heard a car pull up in the gravel driveway. He never knew who to expect because the house didn’t have a phone. Even if it had, it wouldn’t have been a good idea. The government could track calls in order to find him, and Bucky knew Canada wouldn’t have a problem handing him over to the U.S. authorities if it came down to it.

Opening the door, he leaned against the doorframe and watched both front doors of the black SUV open. Steve was driving, and Bucky expected to see another man in a suit emerging from the passenger side. He had not been anticipating Darcy Lewis in all her perfection to slide down out of the seat and to the ground. She looked up to meet his gaze while she closed the door, giving him a nervous smile and a little wave of her hand.

Steve was grinning as he and Darcy walked up the small stone path to the door. “I figured Darcy should be the one to give you the good news since she’s the reason we’re here,” he said.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky said, suddenly feeling shy and unsure of himself.

She adjusted the bag hanging from her shoulder and smiled again. She looked about as nervous as he felt. Darcy exhaled a breath before saying, “There’s a hearing tomorrow afternoon. The deal is that if you show and go through the song and dance of the hearing, then they’ll give you immunity for everything that happened from nineteen-forty-five until the day after you left Puente Antiguo. ”

He was watching her lips move, but it was difficult to understand what she was saying. Mostly it was because she was there right in front him after he’d spent so many hours sitting alone or lying in bed and thinking about her and they way she’d felt in his arms. However, part of the problem was also that he couldn’t believe what she was saying. How was it possible that they were willing to wipe his slate clean just like that? “What?” he asked.

“There’s a hearing tomorrow and we were promised immunity for you if you show,” she said. He swept his gaze over her, taking in the way her hair was pulled back with a gold clip on one side, revealing her elegant jawline. She was in a pair of faded jeans and a blue, V-neck shirt that allowed him a glimpse of her cleavage. His eyes skipped over her chest so he didn’t look like he was staring. He settled his gaze on her hand clutching the strap of the bag hanging from her shoulder. She was holding on so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“How?” Bucky whispered. “It can’t be that easy.”

Darcy gave him a small smile as she raised her brows. “Well, it _wasn’t_ easy. I’ve been working on this for almost two months. The government moves slow as hell.”

“Doll,” Bucky said before his throat closed up and he couldn’t make anything else come out.

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder and said, “I’m gonna leave you two alone and let Darcy walk you through everything. She’s the expert, after all.”

Bucky looked from Darcy’s wide eyes to Steve and then back to Darcy as Steve stepped away and turned around to walk toward the vehicle.

“I told him that I’d never forgive him if he didn’t let me come see you,” she said, looking up at Bucky shyly through her lashes.

The car engine turned over and the gravel crunched as Steve backed up and turned the SUV around. “What’s the catch?” Bucky asked once he saw the taillights disappear around the corner.

“The catch?” she asked.

“What’s the catch? I get everything I want. That ain’t possible.” It was as if voicing those fears brought them to life and allowed a feeling of uneasiness to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“No catch,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “Can I come in, Bucky?”

He exhaled and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I’ve—I’m sorry. Yeah, come in.” He pushed off the doorframe and stepped back to give her space to enter. She looked around the small cabin as she crossed the threshold. The wooden walls were painted white and the furniture was sparse but comfortable. There was a small kitchen with a table for two and a living room dominated by a tan leather sofa and two matching armchairs. The small bathroom was off the only bedroom, which had a four poster bed made of rustic wood. Bucky had found a measure of comfort in the place that he hadn’t enjoyed since before the war.

“Nice place,” she said, turning in a circle to take in the living room. When she was facing him again, she looked up into his eyes and the timidness and awkwardness he’d been feeling with her seemed to fall away. “You okay, Bucky?” she whispered.

He smiled and it was real and heartfelt. “I’m okay, doll. Glad to see you.”

“I hope it’s a good surprise and not a bad one,” she replied with a wink.

“Oh, it’s better than good. Seeing you could never be bad.”

“Especially when I bring good news,” she said, letting the strap fall off her shoulder and lifting it up in her hand.

“You don’t have to bring anything, Darcy. You’re enough. It’s real good to see you.” He wanted to say so much more, but he didn’t know where to find the words or the courage. He wanted to tell her that he’d dreamt of her and that he’d thought of all the things he’d say or do when he could see her again. Except, now that she was in front of him, he couldn’t figure out how to say or do any of it.

She gave him a warm smile and said, “Can we sit down? I wanna go over all this business stuff and then you can tell me how the past few weeks have been.”

“Of course, doll. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy didn’t know where she stood with him, and that made her nervous. The night he’d shown up in her apartment and the whirlwind that had happened afterward had made it easy to get caught up in the emotion of it. Now she was sitting across a tiny kitchen table for two with a stack of reports and correspondence between them. She had printed emails and letters from the State and Justice Departments, not to mention the US military. She had written promises of a fair hearing and allusions to immunity, though no one would actually put that in writing. The sunlight coming in the kitchen room window and almost two years of work created a gulf between them.

“How can you say they’re giving me immunity when there isn’t anything here that promises it?” he asked, eyes on the paper in front of him, voice so soft she could only hear it because the cabin was silent.

Darcy fluttered her hands around, nervously straightening the papers into a pile. “They can’t put it down in writing because there hasn’t been a hearing. I asked the same thing you did and was told that this is how it’s done.” Carefully, she pulled the document in front of him away and arranged it on the top of the pile before shutting the folder she’d kept everything stowed away in.

“How it’s done?”

She sighed. “Yeah. How it’s done. I promise you that I’ve talked to, like, a dozen different lawyers. They all seem confident that this is a done deal. You just have to show up for the hearing.”

He finally looked up at her. Darcy had forgotten how blue his eyes were. She’d also forgotten the sadness and pain evident in them. His handsome face with the beginnings of a beard starting to cover his jawline did little to hide the hurt. “And if I show up and they change their minds?”

“They won’t. I won’t let them.”

He smiled at her with such warmth that it took her breath away. “You can’t fix everything, Darcy.”

“I can try.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. I– This is more than I deserve. I didn’t—I didn’t know you were doing all this, doll. It’s too much.”

“It’s nothing I didn’t want to do. Also, I will kick your ass if you start feeling like you owe me a damn thing. This was my choice; you didn’t ask for any of it. So, don’t go thinking you need to repay me or whatever. My gift, dude. Really.”

He smiled again, but he looked lost and unsure and distant. “This is some gift.”

Darcy reached out her hand to lay it on top of his but hesitated right before she touched him, curling her fingers into her palms. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Bucky reached across the tiny table and slipped the fingers of his right hand underneath hers, lacing them together, their palms pressed against one another. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His big hand was warm. “How are you, Bucky? Like, really. Don’t give me the bullshit answer.”

“I’m okay. This place is nice, quiet. I feel good here.” He dropped his gaze to their entwined hands and said, “Feel like I should be doing more, but… I don’t know what I can do to help. I’d just get in the way right now.”

“Help how?”

“Help Steve. Help make things right. Balance the scales, wipes out this red in my ledger.” He gave a little chuckle. “If that’s even possible”

“Is that what you want to do?” Darcy asked. “Join the Avengers?”

“Nah, doll. I can’t… I’m not some hero. I… I can fight, though. I can back them up. Help.”

She smiled. “I think that’s called being an Avenger.”

“You help them. You an Avenger?”

This made her laugh. “No. I don’t fight. I just check email and tell the media to fuck off sometimes. I also get snacks and yell at Steve when he doesn’t eat.”

“You and Steve get along pretty well.”

She squeezed his hand. “He’s a great guy. Just like you.”

“I ain’t–”

“Yeah, you are,” she said, interrupting him. “You really are.”

Bucky’s head dropped down, his chin against his chest. “You came all the way up here to invite me to a hearing tomorrow?”

“I came up there to see you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. She could feel the discomfort rolling off him, but didn’t know what was causing it. “Steve coming to pick you up in a few? You headed back to New York?”

“Depends on if you want some company.”

This made him lift his head to look at her. “What’s that mean?”

“Steve’s not coming to pick me up unless I ask him to. I took the day off. I’m on my personal time.”

“Personal time?” he asked on a soft exhale.

“It means I want to be here… with you. But only if you want me to be.”

“Honestly, doll, you’re the only person I want here right now.” He was looking at her with such openness that the butterflies kicked up in her stomach.

She glanced down at her left hand and his right hand on the tabletop, fingers alternating and palms pressed together. It all felt surreal and awkward and strange. “This is the first time we’ve been in the same place without something being wrong.”

When she looked up at him again, he furrowed his brows. “Something being wrong?”

“Yeah,” Darcy replied. “We’re not running from HYDRA or in danger. You’re not being framed for a bombing or trying to hide from someone trying to kill you.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet, doll. There’s a chance I’m getting locked up tomorrow.”

“You’re not. Trust me,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine a world where… where I’m not… I don’t know.”

“Hiding? Running?”

“Miserable and...” He trailed off, letting his gaze slide away from hers.

“And?” Darcy prompted.

Bucky looked back up at her and forced a smile, all thin-lipped and flat. “Alone,” he finished.

“You haven’t been alone since you met me. You might have run off, but I was always here for you. Steve has been, too. I hope you know that,” she said.

“I couldn’t have you in my life.” He released her hand and pulled his back, hiding it and the other in his lap so she couldn’t reach out and touch him again.

Darcy nodded. “I get it that you were trying to protect us—me and Steve and everyone else. But you don’t need to anymore. After the hearing, you’ll be able to breathe.”

“The hearing ain’t solving all the problems, Darcy.” He stood up and walked across the room to look out the living room window. There was a small, overgrown yard and a sloping grassy hillside that lead down to rocks and the lapping waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The sun was low in the sky and the living room had gotten dark.

Darcy walked up to stand behind him. “Talk to me,” she whispered, struggling not to reach out and wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his strong back.

“HYDRA is still out there. Steve might have destroyed the book with the trigger words, but… they ain’t gonna let me go that easy. Now I’ll just be a more visible target.”

“And you think Steve isn’t a target? All of them are. Now you won’t be alone, and that counts for something.”

Bucky turned to face her. “What if they turn me again? Wipe me or have another copy of the words? What if they make me hurt you or him or… anyone?”

“We’re not gonna let that happen. And if they try, then we’ll deal. It’s not just me and Steve, you know. It’s everyone—Nat and Sam and Clint and Wanda and Vision and… Well, not Tony _yet_. He’ll come around, though.”

“I heard you had a talk with him,” Bucky said, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

The brush of his warm fingers against the shell of her ear made Darcy smile. “I just told him the truth and suggested he not be an asshole since you didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I told him that we’d talked about it and that you feel terrible.”

“I need to apologize.”

“Not really, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Just… not now. Give him some time.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. I don’t want to cause problems.”

She poked the center of his chest with her index finger. “You aren’t causing problems. Now,” Darcy said, clapping her hands together, “what state is your fridge in? Maybe we can make dinner?”

“When is your ride coming?” he murmured.

“Whenever you want it to.”

“What if I don’t want it to?”

She smiled up at him as her heart beat a little harder and faster in her chest. “Done. Steve will be back tomorrow morning at eleven to pick us up. I’m all yours until then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wait. Were you expecting a conclusion to that slow burn? Not this chapter, babes. Maybe next chapter, though. ;-)


	20. Chapter 20

 

> _“We were built to fall apart then fall back together.” - Ryan Adams (Out of the Woods)_

She had found a full fridge when she’d opened it, which created a slightly embarrassed Bucky. He’d confessed that Steve or Sam had delivered bags of groceries once every two weeks so he didn’t have a reason to leave and possibly be spotted, but he wasn’t too skilled at putting the ingredients together into an actual meal. Darcy had teased him as she pulled a pack of chicken breasts from the fridge, but she still went about making a quick meal of roasted chicken with what veggies hadn’t spoiled. It was mostly potatoes and green beans.

Bucky had stood at the end of the counter and watched her with curious eyes as she moved around the small kitchen and peppered him with questions about the weeks he’d spent in Nova Scotia. He seemed much more interested in her and what she’d been doing since he’d left Puente Antiguo alone. He gave her short, but complete answers for her questions and followed up with many of his own. Darcy found it surprising that he seemed to be more interested in her life than her personal crusade to clear his name.

“Unless we’re talking Netflix and sleep, I’m not sure that I have a life outside of work,” she said, piling the roasted vegetables next to a chicken breast on her plate.

He was behind her, looking over her shoulder. “No, uh, dances… friends?”

She glanced back before putting two chicken breasts and more vegetables on his plate. “Dances? You’re showing your age, Bucky. Other than the people at work? No friends to speak of. I’ll have you know that it’s hard as hell to make friends as an adult. You end up hanging out with the people you work with and maybe emailing your best friend from junior high once every other month.”

“You must have gone on some dates,” he said, taking his plate from her and then reaching over to take hers off the counter before she could. He sat them on the small table for two which he’d already arranged with silverware and two cups of ice water.

Darcy walked over and stood in front of him next to the table. He crossed his arms and then dropped them to his side. “No dates,” she said, poking her index finger into the center of his chest once.

“That’s hard to believe, doll. Girl like you…” he trailed off and dropped his eyes to the ground.

She tilted her head and tried to catch his gaze. Bucky looked resolutely at the floor. “Girl like me, what?” Darcy asked.

“Just… that’s hard to believe you weren’t getting lots of invitations.”

She wanted to laugh at the idea of Bucky Barnes flirting with her after everything they’d been through. And flirting so awkwardly and poorly, at that. “Well, I didn’t say there weren’t invitations. I just said I didn’t accept them.”

This made him look up at her, and all that sweet sincerity in his blue eyes almost took her breath away. “Not your kinda guys?” he said, baiting her. She watched the muscles of his throat move as he swallowed.

“Well, I _was_ a little hung up on this one guy. Don’t know if he was all that into me, though. He had a lot going on in his life, so… nothing ever really happened.”

“Oh.” The way Bucky’s jaw tensed at the mention of who he obviously thought was someone else gave Darcy the courage to actually admit the truth to him.

Smiling up at him, she said, “So, now that you’ve got your memories back and you’re not so busy running and hiding, do you think you might have time to go out with me? Or stay in with me—your choice.”

“What?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “Me?”

Now she did laugh at him. “Who else, Bucky? Don’t act surprised. You can’t kiss a girl like that and not expect her to develop this massive, yearning crush on you, especially when you leave for, like, two fucking years.”

He swallowed hard again and then turned away from her. She watched his broad back as he ran a hand roughly through his hair. For a moment, she worried about what he was thinking and if she’d read it all wrong. Darcy had been so sure he was into her, even if it was just some weird feeling of being indebted her to for helping him. When he turned around, he wiped wetness from his eyes with a flash of his right hand.

“So?” she asked. “Wanna hang out in our PJs and watch television, get caught up on pop culture, and eat pizza with me? Ooh, or we could just eat ice cream in bed.”

“I thought I was taking you on a date. That don’t sound like a date.”

“It’s my kinda date, but I could go for dinner and a movie if you want to get all old fashioned on me, Soldier.”

“We’ve already sat around in hotel rooms and watched television,” he said.

“True, but we didn’t make out, so....”

The muscles of his throat moved as he swallowed. “Is that what makes it a date?”

“Yep.”

“Can we have one of those kinds of dates right now?” He was smiling now, the corners of his mouth pulling up slightly.

Darcy laughed softly under her breath and leaned forward, laying her forehead against his chest. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied as he lifted his arms to loosely surround her. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Oh, yeah? Are you okay with touching now?” She turned her head and laid her cheek against his chest right over his heart.

“You never have to ask. You’re okay.” With her ear pressed against him, his voice sounded like a rumble in his chest.

“Just me, huh?”

“Just you,” he agreed, running the tips of his metal fingers down her spine. Bucky halted the smooth slide down right at the small of her back.

She shivered at the simple pleasure of his light touch. “That feels good,” Darcy whispered, rubbing her cheek against his shirt.

“This feels like a dream,” Bucky whispered into the hair on the top of her head.

His sweet comment made her chuckle. She agreed, but asked, “Why?” anyway.

“You here. Dinner smells so good. I know we’ve got all night before I have to think about reality again. And…”

“And?” Darcy prompted.

He gave a breathy laugh and said, “And you seem like you might be okay with us being close like this. Feels good to touch you again.:”

She lifted her head off his chest and looked up into his face. “No one but you was stopping you from touching anyone.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I only really wanted to touch you. And you weren’t around.”

She pinched the skin on his side and said, “That’s because you ran off, you jerk.”

“I ain’t running now. I’m yours for the night.”

The tentative innuendo underlying his words made Darcy want to skip dinner and just pull him into the bedroom. She hadn’t been lying when she had told him that she’d had a few offers to go on a date, but none were all that appealing when she thought back to their kiss by the payphone. She’d been on a very long, self-imposed dry streak, and now that he was there in front of her again, she didn’t regret it one bit. “Just for the night?” she whispered, trying to figure out where his head was. She’d thought their connection was deeper than just a night.

“The hearing is tomorrow. Good chance I’m not leaving it with you even though I want to.”

“Oh, you’ll be leaving with me one way or another.”

His lips brushed over her hairline, the lower one soft against her forehead. “What’s that mean?” Bucky whispered.

“We’re leaving together legally or not. Plan B is still an option.”

“You can’t run away for me, doll. That’s not right. It’s not the life you deserve.”

She pulled away from him and took his right hand as it fell to his side. “Don’t worry, Bucky. They’ll clear you. They’ve promised me.”

“Promises can be broken, Darcy. You think the government hasn’t done that before?”

Darcy gently tugged him toward her as she stepped back. “I know what I’m doing. My ducks are in a row; I’ve spoken to so many attorneys and members of Congress and psychiatrists that it’s disgusting. This is going to work. _Trust me._ ”

He took a step forward and followed her as she pulled him over to the small table in the kitchen. “I trust you, but I don’t trust them.”

“It’ll be okay,” she said. “I promise. Pretend with me for just tonight.”

Bucky gave her a smile when she stopped at the table. “Okay. I’ll pretend for tonight.”

“Good. What’s the future look like?” she asked.

His eyes looked at her, but they weren’t focusing on her. It was like he was miles away, thinking of what she’d asked him. Finally, he shook his head and let go of her hand. She turned around to watch him sit down at the table, his gaze on the plate in front of him.

“You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?” she asked, sitting down across from him and picking up her fork and knife.

“It’s stupid. Silly.”

“Does it involve you brooding alone in a shitty apartment because of things that aren’t even your fault? Because that’s the only thing that would be stupid.”

Bucky huffed out a breath of laughter as he picked up his fork. “No, it doesn’t. It involves you. And me.”

Darcy swallowed the swell of emotion that tightened her chest and flipped her stomach over. “What are we doing in the future?” she asked, trying to act nonchalant.

This made him chuckle deep in his throat. It sounded sexy and very promising. “Doll,” he said like it was an admonishment for asking a very silly question.

Silly, indeed. “Are we baking that chocolate cake for your birthday next year? Are we… watching the worst reality television marathons on a Sunday morning? Ooh, are we going on a road trip for old times sake? I’m still all about that ice cream in bed.”

Bucky looked up and caught her gaze, a smile on his face that reached his eyes. “Yeah, doll. We’re doing all those things.”

“The future sounds fun,” she said, spearing a potato with her fork. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Me too. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy. The looming fear of tomorrow had been shoved to the back of his mind, and he was trying to do what she’d asked of him: pretend with her just for the night that it was going to be okay and he was going to get exactly what he wanted. What he wanted was a future with her, but the details were vague and changeable. He wanted to help Steve; he wanted to repay debts. He wanted to take a breath without feeling like it might be his last as a free man.

Mostly, though, he wanted her. When she’d asked him what the future was, he’d been too afraid to tell her that he’d been thinking about her apartment in upstate New York and how he’d like to live there with her, share that bed he’d watched her sleep in a couple months before. He could help Steve if the others were willing to accept his help. He could learn how to live in the modern world that had things like computers and cell phones and the internet, which he still wasn’t sure he understood. He could try to make amends for all those things he’d been forced to do. And he could also try to make her happy like she made him happy.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, sliding her left hand over his thigh as they sat side by side on the comfortable leather loveseat in the living room.

Bucky looked down at her hand on his leg and adjusted his right arm that was wrapped around her shoulders. “You,” he replied.

Darcy shifted to look up at him. “What about me?”

“You and the future.”

She settled back into place with a content sigh. They’d finished dinner, and he’d helped her clean up the mess in the kitchen before she’d sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. Bucky had needed no further convincing. He wanted nothing more than to be close to her and feel the heat of her body next to him. They’d been sitting there talking quietly about everything and nothing for over an hour. “I have so many things I want to show you,” she said, laying her head against his chest.

“Like what?” he whispered into her hair.

“Like everything.”

“Might take some time to show me everything, doll.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got time.”

Her words felt like a fist closing up around his heart. Did they really have time, though? The outcome of tomorrow's hearing was not guaranteed, despite her unfailing faith in them granting immunity. Bucky wanted to voice his concern again, but she would just repeat what she’d already said. She would tell him to trust her and that it would all be okay. He wanted to believe her, but it was just so difficult to let go of the fear he’d been living with for so long.

She talked like she wanted him in her life for good, not just until he could find his footing or until he was stable again. She talked like she might be looking forward to that fantasy future he’d conjured up just as much as he was. “It’s so quiet here,” Darcy whispered.

It really _was_ quiet. The cabin was surrounded by acres of undeveloped land and insulated by trees. Just beyond the trees on the western side of the house was a grassy hill that turned into craggy rocks before it dropped off into a cliff. Beyond the cliff was nothing but water that went on like an ocean even though it wasn’t. Bucky had spent many days walking down the hillside and navigating the rocks so he could sit on the edge of the cliff and watch the sun turn the water of the gulf a brilliant blue like Darcy’s eyes. He even enjoyed the days when the wind picked up and an incoming storm tossed the waters up against the cliff hard enough that he’d take off his shoes and let it dampen the soles of his feet.

“It is,” he replied. “Do you hate it?”

“No,” she answered. “It’s nice. Has it been good for you being up here, Bucky?”

“Yeah, it’s been good.”

“You look rested.”

He smiled and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “You ever gonna stop worrying about me, doll?”

“Nope. I like you too much to not worry.”

“You worried about tomorrow?”

She squeezed his knee. “No. And you shouldn’t be worried either.”

“Okay,” he said, acquiescing because it felt good to do so, indulgent and comforting even if the back of his mind still fretted over it. Bucky tilted his head and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Darcy laughed softly and said, “That tickles.”

He rubbed the scruff of the beginnings of his beard against the soft skin of her cheek when she tilted her head back to look at him.

Still giggling, she reached around with her right hand and grabbed his face, her palm pressed up under his chin. “Come here,” she whispered, holding him still so she could kiss him softly on the lips.

Bucky felt a shot of elation course through his veins as he kissed her back. The chaste, gentle press of his mouth against hers quickly turned into something more urgent and desperate that involved parted lips and searching tongues. His right hand had moved up to caress the tender spot at the base of her neck, hidden by her hair, when she shifted and used hands on his shoulders to throw a leg over his lap and straddle him.

Her arms slid over his shoulders as she kissed him again, this time without the constraints of their position side-by-side. Bucky closed his eyes and let her take the lead as she nipped at his lower lip. Everything fell away in that moment, and the world was just her and nothing else—no past or future, no responsibilities.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled Darcy up against his body until her breasts were in front of his face. Bucky moved his right hand down to cup her ass as she shifted against him, trying to get closer even though it didn’t seem possible. When she pulled back to suck in a deep breath, he said, “Thank you,” on an exhale.

She smiled down at his face. “Thank me?”

“For this,” he said, squeezing her ass and pressing his face into her cleavage. “I wanted to be here, but didn’t know how to get here.”

Darcy took his face in her hands and leaned back. “Here, where? On the couch with me straddling your lap?”

“Mmm, hmm,” he said, using his left arm to pull her closer so he could press his face into her breasts again. She gasped as he opened his mouth and let the edges of his teeth graze over the swell of her breast exposed by the T-shirt she wore.

“Well, it did take some time to get to this point,” she agreed. Darcy ran her fingers through his hair as he licked the salty skin on her chest. The weight of her on his lap, the curve of her ass in his hand, the taste of her skin, the sensation of her fingers tangled in his hair—all of it was sending him into some pleasurable spiral in which he couldn’t seem to stop himself or care about what would happen in the morning.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned as he slipped his left hand underneath the hem of her shirt. The soft skin at the small of her back felt good against the sensors in the cybernetic arm, but he bet it would feel so much better against his own flesh. As smoothly as an old man who’d been out of the game could, he moved the left hand to cup her ass and keep her pressed against him while he moved the right up her back, lingering on the elegant curve where the small of her back flared out into hips and ass and all those nice curves that he never thought he’d be able to touch so freely.

“Bucky,” she whispered as he speared his tongue between her breasts.

He looked up at her, loving the sound of his name when she said it like that and worried she might tell him they were moving too fast. Instead, she reached down and pulled off her shirt without so much as a warning to him that he needed to brace himself. As he took in the flawless skin of her shoulders and chest, she reached back to swat his hand away from her bra clasp. Just like that, the straps of it slackened and fell from her shoulders right before the black stain of the cups fell from her breasts.

“Oh,” he said on a soft exhale, sounding ridiculous and almost as dim-witted as he felt when faced with the dark pink of her nipples and the lush curves of her two very perfect tits.

By the time she was tossing the bra into the floor, he had parted his lips and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. Bucky flicked the tip of his tongue over it and then licked it. “Bucky, please,” she moaned, one hand in his hair again, holding him to her chest, and the other gripping the metal of his left shoulder. “ _Bucky_ ,” she continued.

Pulling his mouth off her, he said, “Thought you just sounded like that in my fantasies.”

Darcy gave a breathy laugh before leaning down and giving him a filthy kiss that was all tongue and ended with her gently biting his lower lip as she pulled away. When she let go, his lip snapped back into place, but his mind was still all strung out with need. Bucky grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down for another kiss. His cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans, and he wondered if she could feel how much he wanted her as he lifted his hips up and slumped down on the couch so she was lined up with his groin. She answered that question as soon as he’d settled down again by rolling her hips and pressing the heat between her legs down on his restrained erection.

“Is this like your fantasies?” she asked, sitting up and slipping both hands underneath his shirt.

“It’s better, doll,” he replied, looking up at her and her hair falling around her beautiful face. His eyes skipped down to the way her heavy breasts hung, all soft and full against her chest.

She ran her nails over his nipples and said, “Take off your shirt.”

Bucky did what she commanded, using a hand at the back of his neck to pull the material over his head and throw it in the floor behind her.

Her hands roamed his stomach and chest, skimming over his muscles until she made her way up to his shoulders where she wrapped her fingers over the skin on the right and the metal plates on the left. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, running his fingertips up her arms and down her back until he encountered the waist of her jeans. That’s when Bucky curled his fingers under the edge of the denim and traced it around to the button and zipper.

“You don’t have to lay on the compliments,” she teased, bending down and pressing a kiss to his nose and then his mouth. “You’ve already got me half naked.”

“Don’t have to,” he agreed, kissing her back. “Want to.” Bucky unbuttoned her jeans and looked up into her face for a reaction.

“How’d I luck out and get you?” she asked, running the nails of one hand up the side of his neck and into his hair.

Bucky shivered in pleasure as he lowered the zipper of her pants. “Think you got that backward, doll. I lucked out.”

Darcy leaned down and kissed him again before saying, “I beg to fucking differ.”

This made him chuckle as he grabbed the back of her skull and pulled her in for a deep, lingering kiss. She was moving against him when he broke away to breathe. It took Bucky a moment to realize she was rhythmically rubbing herself against the bulge of his cock.

Instinct kicked in as he pressed the palm of his right hand against her stomach, fingers pointed down so he could slide them underneath the fabric of her jeans and panties. Darcy’s breath hitched when his middle finger hit the top of her slit and slipped between her pussy lips. “So wet,” he murmured, looking up at her with his mouth open and nothing but hot desire pulsing in his veins. Could he rip her pants off without hurting her? Probably not. She was all soft curves and sweetness. He couldn’t act like a fucking brute because he needed to be inside her right then.

“Need you,” she whispered into his ear before kissing his mouth again. Bucky felt like he needed four hands just to hold her. It had been so long and he’d thought about this so many times in so many ways that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He needed to touch her face and her breasts, needed to cup the roundness of her ass and slip his middle finger just a little deeper into her dripping wet pussy. He pushed into her until his palm was resting against the nub of flesh that would give her pleasure. “Bucky, oh my god,” she said, gasping and tightening the hand in his hair. The vague pain of her pulling the strands was almost pleasurable when he considered what had caused her to do it.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he said against her lips.

“Undo your pants. I wanna feel you,” was her response. Bucky didn’t know if he could get much harder as he considered what it might feel like if all the slick heat wrapped around his middle finger was wrapped around his dick.

He curled his middle finger inside of her and said, “You sure?”

Darcy gasped and said, “Yes, I’m fucking sure. You think we were gonna wrap this up by holding hands?” She ground her herself down on his hand. “Bucky, please, I need you.”

She pressed her forehead to his as they both struggled with the button and fly of his jeans. Bucky lifted his hips up and hastily tried to push the pants and underwear down his thighs. It was almost impossible with her on top of him, and for some reason that made Darcy giggle as she used her hands on his shoulders to push herself back and up to her feet in front of him.

Bucky finished shoving his clothes down to his knees and suddenly felt awkward and vulnerable as he looked down at his cock. It lay heavy and rock hard against his abdomen. What was he thinking? He didn’t deserve her. The thought flashed through his mind and disintegrated into nothingness when he looked up at her and saw the desire written all over her face, but especially in the way her lips parted as she looked down at his cock.

“Darcy?” he said softly, reaching out a hand to touch the outside of her thigh. The denim beneath his fingers was much rougher than he imagined her skin would be.

She hooked her thumbs into the waist of her pants and pushed them and her panties over her hips. Bucky licked his lips and tried to keep himself under control when he caught the scent of her pussy as she bent over to discard the rest of her clothes. The urge to lie down and pull her right on top of him so he could bury his face in that musky, salty space was strong. Would she taste like the thick air on the shoreline when the sun comes out right after a heavy storm and turns the windy sea air into something humid and moist? She looked up at him right as his eyes fell on the dark thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs, right as he slipped his middle finger that had been buried deep inside her between his lips so he could get a faint taste of her juices.

For a fraction of a moment, Bucky was almost ashamed of the way he couldn’t seem to control his salacious thoughts as they slipped this way and that—considering the texture of her puckered nipple on his tongue, her soft skin and fragrant hair, the slick walls of her pussy clamping down on his finger, and the way her flesh dimpled as he pressed his fingertips into the swell of her hip. Bucky looked from the hair that hid the top of her slit from him to her hip where his left hand was clamped down, urging her to come closer. He let up and popped his middle finger out of his mouth before whispering, “I… Did I hurt you?”

Darcy’s laugh was rough and breathy and sent more blood rushing right to his fucking dick. “Nope,” she said, sliding her knee up along the outside of his thigh and throwing her right leg to the other side so she could straddle him again. He could barely feel her hands on his shoulders because all he could think about was the way her pussy lips were pressed right up the length of his cock. “You looked like you wanted to eat me alive,” she teased, shifting to find a comfortable spot. “No one has ever looked at me like that before. It was… intense.”

“Would you let me?” he whispered, lifting his chin and brushing his lips over her jawline before kissing her again.

“Let you what?” she asked when they parted for a breath. There was a playful gleam in her eyes that made him feel like everything was going to be just fine.

Bucky felt the burn of a blush on the apples of his cheeks as he opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the words to ask her if he could lick her until she screamed for him. “Eat you,” he finally said.

She put her lips against his ear and said, “Not only would I let you, I’d _beg_ you.” He exhaled roughly as her words sank in and he realized she’d let him off the hook so easily, teasing him and then graciously taking the pressure off when he’d felt cornered. “I need you inside me now, though,” she added. “Please…”

Bucky clenched his teeth together at the sweet whine to her voice as she begged him to fuck her. His eyes rolled back in his head again when she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around his dick. Fumbling, he helped her position his cock so when she rolled her hips forward, he slid up into her halfway.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered, dropping her forehead to his left shoulder. For a brief moment, he wondered at how she could find it so easy to accept the metal there and treat it like it was just a part of him. It was only a brief moment, though, because in the next one he could feel the walls of her pussy bearing down on him.

“Dar—Darcy…” he whispered, putting his left hand on her hip and pulling her closer to him, urging her forward so she’d be pressed right up against him and he could be buried deep inside her.

“It’s been a while and I gotta adjust,” she said, putting her forehead against his again.

“Been awhile?”

“Yeah, since I’ve gotten naked with someone and done this,” she said with a breathy laugh. “You’re not exactly a little guy.”

Bucky widened his eyes and pulled back from her. “Am I hurting you?”

She laughed again. “Nope. Just…” With a grunt, she shifted and he slipped a little further inside her. Bucky let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “God, you feel so good,” Darcy whispered, pressing soft kisses along his jaw.

Bucky scooted down a little further and it let her settle herself fully on him with a groan of pleasure. He couldn’t seem to stop his hands from roaming over all that skin in front of him, palming her breasts and tracing the contours of her figure from her elegant neck to the graceful slope of her shoulders to the blissful exaggeration of her chest and hips in comparison to her waist. “Fuck, doll,” he growled when she shifted and the walls of her pussy squeezed him.

“You okay?” she asked.

He curled his hands over her hips and bucked up into her. “I’m great. You feel so fucking good like this. I ain’t hurting you, right?”

“Uh uh, “ she said with a chuckle. “Feels good, so, so, so good.”

With their foreheads pressed together and their hot breaths mingling, she let him do most of the work. Bucky didn’t mind at all because each time he thrust up into her, he was sure nothing could feel as good. It didn’t take him long to find himself at the edge of a powerful orgasm he wasn’t sure he could control or stave off for her sake.

“Darcy, I’m– Darcy, please…”

She seemed to know exactly what he was trying to say even if he couldn’t say it. She grabbed the wrist of his right hand and slipped his fingers down to where his cock was sliding up into her body. When he dragged the pad of this thumb over the nub of flesh situated at the top of her slit, she gasped. It told him just what she was asking for as he tried to hold onto the pace he’d set, thrusting up and pulling back, in and out. The friction was almost unbearable as his balls tightened up. He’d come for her before, alone in his bed in Bucharest. Now he was so close to coming inside her that the mere thought almost set him off.

Her lips were moving against his ear, but she had to repeat herself for him to understand that she was saying, “Talk to me, tell me how I feel.”

“Darcy,” he said, almost growling her name as he tried to pull himself back from the precipice. “Doll, you feel like… everything. You feel so amazing, so perfect, so…. So fucking wet for me. Thought about this so many times, doll. Thought about how you’d feel, how you’d taste. It’s so much better. I can’t….” He grunted as he came inside her, spurred on by his own words and the way she was bucking her hips to press the pad of his thumb harder against her clit. Just as the white-hot fire that had raced through his veins receded, he felt her pussy walls pulse around him as she let out a strangled moan and arched her trembling body into his. Bucky wrapped his arms around her as she sucked in air, breathing hard. The knowledge that she’d orgasmed right after he’d come deep inside her was clanging around in his head.

With his left hand, he gathered her hair and piled it on to of her head so he could trace nonsense figures and letters on her back with the fingers of his right. Bucky felt such tenderness in that moment that it was overwhelming. If he’d have died for her before, then he’d do so twice as fast now that they’d shared that moment of vulnerability. His cock softened inside her before she pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone and said, “When we can do that again?”

Bucky laughed and let her hair go. It fell down her back, and he took her face into both his hands so he could kiss her lips, soft and sweet. “Don’t encourage me.”

She pinched his nipple between her thumb and forefinger before saying, “Uh, I’m going to be giving you all the encouragement if it results in hot sex like that. How many more hours do we have before Steve picks us up? When are you gonna be up for more of that?” she asked him with a grin and a wink.

He knew she hadn’t intended it, but her question about the remaining hours until they had to leave settled heavy in the forefront of his mind. How many more hours of blissful freedom would he have so he could memorize the curves of her body, the scent of her sex, the taste of her lips before he’d be ripped away again?

“Stop,” she whispered. “I know what you’re thinking,” she told him, her voice serious now. “It’s all going to work out like a dream. And we’ll celebrate with ice cream and sex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad that this is almost over, but excited to move on to other projects. I hope you all have enjoyed it. See you tomorrow for the conclusion!


	21. Chapter 21

 

> _“Are we out of the woods yet? Are we, are we in the clear yet? Good.” - Ryan Adams (Out of the Woods)_

Darcy woke up in an unfamiliar bed to pale light coming through an unfamiliar window. The day before all rushed back to her as she remembered flying up to Nova Scotia with Steve and the anxious thirty-five minute drive on back roads to the cabin just off the coast of the water. She remembered dinner and talking, and most of all she remembered Bucky. She remembered tentative kisses that turned into more urgent ones. She remembered pulling off her clothes and the night they’d spent on the couch and then in his bed. They’d made love once in the bed before falling asleep facing each other, exhaustion—mental and physical—stealing the time they had alone.

She’d put on a brave face for him the previous day, but Bucky was right. The hearing scheduled for two o’clock that afternoon could go south. It was completely possible he’d leave it in handcuffs, despite all the work she’d done and all the promises she’d extracted from people who held his future in their hands. She thought it would all work out, but she didn’t know for sure.

He stirred behind her, shifting closer and tightening an arm around her waist. Darcy could feel his erection pressed against her ass as she rocked her hips back into him. The arm wrapped around her—the left one—pulled her back even closer before he slipped it down between her legs and rubbed her sensitive clit. Darcy gasped and reached back to grab a handful of his hair. Bucky exhaled a breath on her neck before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses there while he worked her with his cybernetic hand.

Darcy moaned and clutched at his wrist, trying to find the angle that would make her come. He slipped his index finger inside her and curled it, hitting that spot inside her and just behind her clit that made her get sloppy wet.

“Been waiting for you to wake up so I could do this,” he murmured in her ear. The noise of his arm moving was almost normal to her now. It was no longer an oddity or something that even registered; it was just the sound of Bucky moving as he lifted her top leg up and pulled it back over his hip. Darcy instinctively bent her other leg so he could guide his cock inside her from behind. “You like that?” he said, all hushed words and hot breath against the shell of her ear.

“Yes. Fuck, yes,” she moaned, trying to push back into him. “Buck—Bucky, p—please. _Please_ move.”

He didn’t hesitate, just did as she’d asked. The drag of his cock as he pulled out was second only to the friction and fullness as he pushed back in, hitting different spots in this new angle they hadn’t experienced with each other yet. “You feel so good, doll. So good. So perfect. So hot for me.” The words just seemed to tumble from his lips as he sank his teeth gently into her earlobe.

The rhythm he’d set with his strokes, the heat of his mouth on her ear, the caress of his breath on the sensitive skin of her neck, the slickness of his metal fingers pinching her clit with barely-there pressure—it was all combining to set her off faster than she’d ever been able to, even on her own. Darcy told him as much when she said, “If you keep talking like that, I’m gonna come so hard, so fucking fast.”

Bucky growled and sped up his strokes. She wasn’t sure if the position and the fact that her back was to him gave Bucky more freedom, but he scraped his front teeth along her neck before pressing his lips to her ear again and saying, “You like when I talk to you, doll? You wanna tell me how I feel inside you? You like that?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Bucky!”

“Love when you say my name. Say it again.”

“Bu—Bucky,” Darcy said, dragging out the end with a moan.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “I can feel you clamp down on me when I do this.” Bucky slipped the tip of his metal index finger up inside her with his next stroke. “Just wanna stay here with you forever,” he said.

His tongue traced the shell of her ear at the exact moment her orgasm took her by surprise. Bucky held her still with his left hand, index finger and thumb on her clit as she bucked against him. “Wanna stay with you, too,” she said as she came down from the euphoric high.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, going harder and faster, his hips smacking up against her ass with every stroke. “Stay, stay.”

Darcy blinked away tears as she felt herself plummet from the high of the emotional rollercoaster to the freefall before the low. “I’m not leaving,” she said right before he came with a grunt and a shuddering thrust into her body. Bucky went still, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest against her back. Slowly, he slid his cybernetic hand away from her slit and up to rest on her stomach. “I’m not leaving you,” she repeated in the silence of the bedroom.

“I know,” he said before kissing her neck.

 

* * *

 

They showered together, but in silence. Darcy leaned back against him and tried to hide her tears in the spray of water as he tenderly massaged shampoo into her hair. If things didn’t work out at the hearing, then her heart would break. She’d always told herself that it was silly to be hung up on Bucky. He’d left her, and they’d only really known each other for a few days. Now, as she felt his right hand smooth the suds of soap away from her forehead, she knew she was in love with him, and probably had been for a while.

He dried her with his towel before drying himself and watched as she pulled a toothbrush from her briefcase so she could brush her teeth with him.

“Did you plan to stay the night?” he asked her around his toothbrush.

She pulled hers out of her mouth before saying, “I wanted to, but I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

Bucky just shook his head as he watched her in the mirror of the tiny bathroom. “Wish we could stay here longer, you and me,” he murmured before rinsing his mouth and leaving the bathroom to find clothes.

Darcy felt a little self-conscious as she walked into the bedroom with just his towel wrapped around her. Bucky was seated on the bed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, his eyes on the floor between his feet. He’d retrieved her clothes from the living room floor and they were neatly folded next to him. When she walked over to stand in front of him, he looked up and gave her a soft smile. She could see the strain behind it, though.

Without saying a word, Bucky reached out and pulled her closer so she was between his knees. Darcy hesitantly let him untuck the towel so it would fall to the floor. It left her standing in front of him with the morning light shining through the window of the bedroom, vulnerable and nervous under his intense gaze.

Bucky reached up and ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms before he jumped them over to her hips. In the same motion, he trailed his fingers up to her waist and then over the sides of her breasts. Darcy closed her eyes as he continued on to trace her collarbones. He paused to test the weight of her breasts in his palms before sliding his hands down her stomach and abdomen. His touch was light over the jut of her hip bones, but when he slipped his hands around to her ass his touch firmed up and he pulled her half a step closer. Darcy looked down at the crown of his head as he placed a single, lingering kiss to her stomach.

“Bucky,” she said, his name halfway between a statement and a question, her heart halfway between her throat and her chest.

He looked up at her with eyes that appeared filmy from unshed tears and pressed his lips together in a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Just… memorizing you, doll.”

Darcy blinked back tears and said, “You don’t have to. I’m yours.”

Bucky gave her another sad smile before reaching over to pick up her panties. Tenderly, he helped her into them and pulled them up her legs before leaning back to watch her strap her bra into place. After that was done, he helped her pull up her jeans and slip the T-shirt over her head. “How long we got?” he whispered, looking up at her with those blue eyes.

She pulled in a deep breath and said, “Little over an hour.”

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

Darcy wiped away the tears that were sliding down her cheeks and nodded. Taking her hand in his, Bucky stood up and led her out of the cabin and through a thin line of trees to a hillside of grass a few inches too high. He kept a hold on her as they made their way down to rocks. A small flat one, cleared of loose gravel and right at the edge of the cliff was where he stopped. It wasn’t until he helped her sit down that she could appreciate the beauty of the body of water before her. The morning was overcast, but the sun was still shining behind the hazy clouds enough to make her squint as she took in the scenery. Darcy looked down to see the waves lapping against the cliff only a couple stories below.

“This is beautiful,” she said when he sat down beside her. Darcy wrapped her arm around his and laid her cheek against his shoulder with a sigh.

“I’m glad you like it.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Darcy didn’t know what frame of mind he was in, but she was all over the place as she thought about where the day would end. “Bucky,” she finally said.

“Hmm?” he asked, letting his head tilt over so his cheek was resting on the top of her head.

“If they don’t keep their promise… If they don’t keep their promise, then can we do plan B?”

He lifted his head and she could feel his gaze on her. “What?”

“Can we run if they don’t give you immunity? Please?”

“Darcy, I…”

“I know you’re tired of running, but… I don’t want this to be the end.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t do that to you.”

She lifted up her head and looked over into his face. “Please? I want to.”

“How are we supposed to get out of there? I’d have to hurt people, kill people. Don’t ask me to do that, doll.”

Darcy laid her head on his shoulder again as tears slipped down her face. “I know. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

He was silent for several minutes before she felt his lips brush over her hair. Bucky pressed a kiss to the crown of her head before whispering, “Feel like I should tell you I love you in case things don't go my way today.”

She exhaled what she thought was going to be a laugh, but the ache in her chest turned it into a sob. Her face was already wet with tears. “Love you, too, you jerk.”

They sat there just like that in silence until Darcy heard the sound of someone approaching from behind. Just as her body tensed, Bucky said, “It’s Steve.”

She turned her head to see Steve halfway down the slope, his hands on his waist and a question in his eyes. The question was whether they were ready to go. She wiped the tears from her face and shook her head at him before turning back to the water.

“We gotta go, doll,” Bucky whispered. “Our ride is here.”

“Don’t want to.”

He smiled down at her. “Thought you were sure this was in the bag.”

She sniffed and wiped at her face again. “It is. I’m just nervous.”

This made him chuckle and tuck a piece of her damp hair behind her ear. “Oh, okay. Nervous is all this is, huh?”

Darcy sniffed again. “Yep.”

He caught her chin with his left hand and tilted her face up so he could press a lingering, sweet kiss on her lips. Darcy wondered if it would be the last they’d ever have.

 

* * *

 

 

The flight to D.C. was tense and quiet. Sam met them at the landing pad along with several men in uniform. Darcy had panicked and dug her fingers into Bucky’s arm until Sam assured her that it was a formality for the safety of those at the hearing. She’d told Sam loudly, hoping everyone would hear, that Bucky was no a threat to anyone. That didn’t seem to make much of a difference because he got pulled away from her and handcuffed. When the shackles went around his legs, Darcy wanted to vomit. She’d promised him that she’d never let anyone do that two years ago, but now she was breaking that promise.

“I didn’t know,” she’d mouthed to him. He just nodded and closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath. “He’s traumatized, Steve,” she’d told her friend. “This is terrible. Why can’t we do this without the restraints?”

Steve’s voice had been sharp when he’d said, “I don’t like it either, Darcy. Let’s just… hope this goes the way we want it to.”

The room was large and intimidating. Everyone was in a suit except for her and Bucky and the guards positioned around the table he sat at and at each of the exits. The five men and one woman deciding Bucky’s fate were seated at a table a few yards away. She’d personally spoken with four of them beforehand. They’d assured her it was a formality, just like Sam had. It was a song and dance to which the outcome was known. Except, it wasn’t really known. They could easily change their minds.

“Hey,” it’s okay,” Sam said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head. “Not until this is over and they have those restraints off of him.”

They called three of the psychiatrists Bucky had spoken with. They all provided the same basic assessment—that he’d been brainwashed via extreme electric shock and torture. It resulted in his memory being compromised. They all deemed him no danger, though he did have the physical ability to cause problems. So does Steve. So does Sam, she thought. So does Wanda, so does Vision. So does Tony. They’re all free.

Steve was interviewed. He sat there for over an hour, answering questions and arguing for his friend. When they dismissed him, Darcy pulled in a deep breath and looked at the back of Bucky’s head. He hadn’t looked at her since they’d slapped the ankle restraints on him. It tore her stomach apart to think that he might believe she knew about it and had betrayed him.

“Ms. Lewis?”

She looked up to the man at the center of the table in front of Bucky. “Yes?” she said.

“We have some questions for you,” the man replied.

Her eyes widened. They hadn’t told her she’d be called to answer questions. She’d had her say in all those emails and letters and petitions. “Uh, oh, o-okay.” Steve touched her shoulder as she walked past him and sat down at a table next to Bucky. Bucky still didn’t look at her, though.

“We’d like to hear how you met Sergeant Barnes.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Well, we kinda got off on the wrong foot.”

 

* * *

 

 

They put Bucky in a cell while the committee deliberated. Darcy felt like she was going to lose her mind as she paced the marble floor of the hallway. Steve was standing by the door that led to the room where Bucky was being held with his arms crossed. Neither of them was allowed to enter. Sam had managed to talk them into allowing him inside after Darcy had begged him to. Someone needed to watch to make sure this wasn’t all a rouse to kill Bucky or put him back into HYDRA’s hands.

“Why are they taking so fucking long?”

“You talked for two hours, Darcy. You can’t give them one?”

Darcy spun around and narrowed her eyes at Natasha. The woman had slipped in while they’d interviewed Steve and sat in the back. Darcy had been grateful for her support and the hug she’d offered after Bucky had been taken away, but now Nat was on thin ice. “I had a lot to say,” she snapped at the redhead.

Nat pushed off the wall and slipped her arm around Darcy’s tense shoulders. “I know you did. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Don’t worry. These suits will give him immunity, but it might come at a cost.”

As fear settled in the pit of her stomach, Darcy said, “What do you mean? What cost?”

“Knowledge. Quid pro quo. The usual,” Natasha replied, squeezing Darcy’s shoulder before releasing her. “Maybe they want him to fight for them, maybe they just want him to fight with the Avengers. Maybe they want to know details of how HYDRA operates.”

“You have a really cynical view of the world, Nat,” Darcy replied.

“I like to think of it as being realistic.”

“Things are still sideways because of the Accords,” Darcy said, crossing her arms and resuming her pacing. “I don’t know where we stand. I mean, what if something happens. What if you run off to fight something?” she asked, looking right at Steve. “And what if you end up on the wrong side of the government because they didn’t want you to intervene? I mean, how the hell does Bucky fit into all that? He’s already told me he wants to help, but they can’t ask him to sign something. He can’t sign some of his freedom away. He’s been trapped for so fucking long.”

“Darcy,” Steve replied, looking weary as he rubbed his eyes. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now we need to get him out of the restraints and back home.”

“I know, I know,” Darcy replied. She bent over at the waist and groaned. “I feel so bad. I promised him they wouldn’t lock him up and then they fucking lock him up.”

“Hey,” Steve said, holding out a hand. “Hey, I’m sure he understands, Darcy. He knew there was a chance of it and you wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “You’d think if they were going to give him immunity for all that shit, that they’d have decided by now. It’s been, like, forty minutes.”

The door opened and a man inside motioned for them to return. Darcy stood by the door and waited for them to bring Bucky in. He glanced over at her when he walked by, longing in his eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but the guards around him wouldn’t allow it.

They all settled down in the seats they’d been in before the break. Darcy’s mind was buzzing, thinking of options, thinking of what she’d say if they told Bucky he would be tried for his crimes. She’d cause a disruption, she’d do something so he could break the cuffs and escape. He’d said he wouldn’t do it, but he’d have to if it came down to him being imprisoned or worse.

The man at the front of the room started talking, but Darcy’s mind was ping-ponging here and there. She kept looking at Bucky’s back and the way his hair brushed over his wide shoulders. It was longer than it had been when they’d met two years ago, but not by too much. With an effort of will, she focused on the man’s mouth and then his words.

“Sergeant Barnes, while the committee considers your actions during the summer of twenty-fourteen to be treasonous, we cannot repute the psychiatrists who have come before us today with their expert opinions on your mental state at that time. The evidence is clear; you committed these crimes. However, I speak for everyone up here when I say we do not believe you to be responsible for your actions during the latter half of nineteen forty-five through the summer of twenty-fourteen.”

Darcy exhaled a shuddering breath of air and leaned forward in her seat. She knew convincing them that he’d been mentally compromised when he’d fought for HYDRA would be the easiest of the tasks, but it was good to hear they weren’t considering a court-martial after all.

“We appreciate your candor in revealing the details of these years to us, disturbing as they may be. That being said, Sergeant Barnes, we have concerns about your stability and safety. You have extraordinary strength and speed. You have a weaponized arm that is capable of inflicting significant damage. It is also our understanding that this organization--HYDRA--could hold some power over you if they were gain access to you. As Dr. Brunson pointed out, mental wounds are difficult to heal and he cannot guarantee you would not slip back into the state they had put you in, especially if their operatives were to capture you. This is a significant security risk. Do you understand that?”

Darcy saw Bucky’s head nod up and down twice. “Yes, sir,” he replied softly. Her heart was in her throat because it sounded like the hearing was going sideways. It sounded like they wanted to lock him away as a risk. She opened her mouth to interrupt and say he wasn’t. An elbow in her side from Nat stopped her from doing so.

She glanced over at the other woman and saw Nat shake her head and mouth the words, “Not now.”

“It is noted that you’ve been living on your own for approximately two years since your grand theft auto spree with Ms. Lewis. And, more importantly, we appreciate the fact that those two years have been without incident. That being said, we believe HYDRA to still be active in some areas, primarily other countries in South America and Eastern Europe. As I said, our concern is that you would fall into their hands again. We also have concerns about trauma from your past manifesting and presenting a danger to the public.”

“No, no, no,” Darcy whispered under her breath.

The man shifted and looked over at Darcy and Steve. “Captain Rogers and Ms. Lewis have provided compelling testimony to your character. We were especially interested in what Ms. Lewis had to say because she met you at a time when you were mentally unstable, and yet, she’s fought very hard for you, Sergeant Barnes. Do you understand this?”

Bucky didn’t reply for several long seconds. When he did, his voice was barely loud enough for Darcy to hear. “I understand she’s done more for me than I deserve, but I don’t understand why.”

“I think, perhaps, she sees an injustice. We all see that injustice, too, Sergeant Barnes. You risked your life in defense of this country. You sustained grave injuries and were taken prisoner by the enemy. You were tortured and made to perform tasks against your will for many, many years. We appreciate the toll this may have taken on you, though we can’t understand all you’ve endured. And, as I said a moment ago, the committee appreciates your willingness to reveal the details of your captivity--details which incriminate yourself.”

She was on the edge of her seat and she wanted to tell the man to get on with it. If they were going to lock him up, then she needed to create a distraction and hope that Steve would let Bucky run. And hope that Bucky would run, her brain reminded her. He’d told her he was done running, but she just couldn’t accept him being locked up in a cell like an animal just because he might be dangerous when he’d done nothing wrong.

“The information you may still have as to the leadership, locations, and inner workings of the terrorist organization known as HYDRA is of great interest to our intelligence agencies. We’d like your cooperation in compiling this information. I assume you don’t have a problem with this, Sergeant Barnes?”

“No, I’ll tell you what I know,” Bucky replied. His shoulders were stiff and his head was slightly lowered.

“Ms. Lewis has informed us of her opinion that you are safe, as has Captain Rogers. I hope you understand we cannot simply take their word for it,” the man said in a sympathetic voice. It was almost as if he were sorry for what he had to say next.

“I understand,” Bucky murmured.

“Please, no,” Darcy whispered under her breath. Steve put an arm around her shoulders. He was almost as tense as Bucky looked. “Steve, you can’t let this happen,” she whispered. All he did was squeeze her closer to him

“However, we feel it would be unjust to imprison you when you are not at fault, nor knowingly committed crimes against this country or its people. We have decided to release you on four conditions. One--you must consent to remain in the country and under the supervision of Mr. Wilson and an agent assigned by us. You are required to keep them apprised of your location at all times. Two--you agree to undergo treatment with an approved psychiatrist who would report back to this committee on your progress, but not the details of your sessions. Three--you reside on the premises of the Avengers New York facility. If anything should trigger you, it would be best to have you surrounded by those who could detain you. Four--you agree to sign the Sokovia Accords. We need assurances that you will not knowingly take action against this government or involve yourself in international incidents which may put us at risk or in a compromising position.”

“Fuck,” Darcy muttered, elation over the prospect of release being dampened by the fourth condition. “You haven’t even signed them,” she muttered to Steve.

Bucky looked over his shoulder, his eyes going to Darcy first and then sliding over to Steve. She could see the question in them. He was asking Steve if the conditions were acceptable. Darcy didn’t really care at the moment. She’d have Bucky sign anything if it would keep him off The Raft and in her life. She felt guilty for the way she’d have him sign a piece of his freedom away in order to see him every day, but that was reality.

Steve nodded his head once in Bucky’s direction, and Darcy exhaled the breath she’d been holding when Bucky said, “Yes. I agree.”

The man nodded at one of the guards, and said, “I’m glad to hear it, Sergeant Barnes. We hope we’re making the right decision here. We’d like to also extend our sympathies on your time in captivity. You’ve suffered for this country, and it has not gone unnoticed. We are in your debt.”

Bucky didn’t reply. His head was down, watching the man unlock the shackles around his ankles.

Darcy stood up, her hands clenched together as another man released his hands from the electronic cuffs.

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly, nodding his head at the committee before glancing back at Darcy with shell-shocked and wide eyes.

She gave him a smile and watched as he was escorted out a side door to another room. “Where are they taking him?” she said, trying to get around Steve and follow.

Sam, who was seated behind them, said, “I’ll go check.” He swiftly crossed the room on his long legs and was allowed entrance to the room they’d taken Bucky to.

Steve’s hand slipped off Darcy’s shoulders, and he roughly ran his fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” Natasha said to them both, “they’re probably making him sign a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo. Sam will help him. That attorney you hired went in there, too.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Okay, okay. Fuck, my stomach is in knots. They made him sign the fucking Accords.”

“He wasn’t getting out of here without concessions,” Nat replied. “We all knew that. All things considered, he got off light.”

Darcy looked from Nat to Steve and said, “My next project will be tearing the damn Accords to shreds.”

Steve exhaled a disbelieving breath through his nose as he smirked and shook his head. Nat just chuckled. “If anyone can, then it’ll be you. Darcy Lewis versus the United Nations.”

“Hey, they fuck with my friends, I have no mercy,” Darcy replied.

This made Steve laugh softly before saying, “I agree with Nat. I can’t believe you managed to get Bucky back and get him cleared and… I don’t know what to say, Darcy.”

“Uh, how about ‘thank you for getting my best friend back?’”

He smiled. “Thank you for getting my best friend back, Darcy.” With that said, he gave her a hug that was so tight she couldn’t breathe for a moment.

The three of them stood in the corner of the hearing chamber for over a half an hour. People left the room off to the left during that time, but not Bucky or Sam or the attorney. Finally, the door opened and a group of people shuffled out. Darcy looked around Steve to see Bucky exit just in front of Sam. He had his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. His eyes wide and distant, like he wasn't even really in the room. They all made their way out into the hallway.

“Darcy,” Steve said, “don’t make a scene out there. I don’t want them to have any reason to think that a personal relationship between you and Bucky is the reason why you fought so hard for him.”

“Why?”

“It takes away credibility.”

“But it shouldn’t. He–”

“I know it shouldn’t, but it does.”

Nat slipped her arm around Darcy’s and whispered. “Steve is right. Don’t give them anything. Whatever is between you and him is between you and him. They don’t need to know.”

“Fine,” Darcy said, pulling Nat along as they followed everyone out. Sam and Bucky were standing just outside the door.

Darcy longed to throw herself across the hallway and into his arms, but she knew Steve and Nat had a point.

“Hey,” she said softly, walking up to him. “Told ya so.”

He looked lost when he said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about a thank you?”

“Thank you, doll,” he whispered.

Darcy looked around her at Steve and Sam and Nat before she focused her gaze on Bucky again. The day had been such a long time coming—not just months but years. “Let’s go home,” she told him. “I think we had plans to celebrate with ice cream and–”

He gave her a tentative, shy smile when she cut herself off before saying sex. “Let’s go home,” Bucky agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

The quinjet was quiet on the way home. Bucky sat on one of the benches along the back and stared at the overhead compartment that held medical equipment. Darcy sat across from him and stared at him. He seemed to be in shock and not really present. Sam piloted the jet while Steve watched her watch Bucky.

“Darcy,” Steve said halfway through the short flight, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

She pushed up off the bench and walked toward the front of the craft. “Yeah?” she asked, absently looking over her shoulder to make sure Bucky was still there.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She glanced up at him. “I’m great. Why?”

Steve nodded over her shoulder. “He’s in shock, I think.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m worried about him.”

“He’ll be okay. He just needs time. It’s a lot. It just takes time and a quiet place to think.”

“Where are you going to put him? In the main building? Near you?”

“I was going to ask him. I wanted to talk to you first because… well, I think he’s going to tell me he wants to stay with you. How do you feel about that?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Yes, I want him to stay with me.” Darcy paused and then added, “If he wants to.”

Steve smiled at her. “You two seem pretty close.”

“We are,” Darcy agreed. “But if he wants his own space, then that’s what I want. You’ll find a place for him to stay, right? Where he’ll be comfortable?”

“Yeah, Darcy. Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be okay.” Steve reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, you did this. _You_ did all this. I don’t know how to thank you, and I’m not even the one you saved. Can’t imagine how he feels.”

“He doesn’t owe me,” she said. “My work was pro bono in every way. I’ve told him he doesn’t owe me a damn thing.”

Steve let go of her shoulder and looked up over her head. “Yeah, but you can’t change the way someone feels, Darcy.” He nodded, but it wasn’t at her.

Furrowing her brows, she turned around and found Bucky standing right behind her. “Hi,” she said. “How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it. Super soldier hearing, remember?”

The pieces fell into place and Darcy frowned. “Steve did that knowing you’d hear. That little fuck.”

Bucky dropped his head and chuckled softly. “Yeah, but he meant well.” Shyly, he looked up through his lashes. “You okay with me coming back to your place. It doesn’t have to be forever if you want your space, but I’d like–”

She cut him off early when she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to press a kiss to his lips. “In case you didn’t know, that was a yes,” Darcy told him, her lips brushing against his.

Laughing softly, Buck wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up against his body as he kissed her back. “I don’t know how you did all this, doll.”

“Did all what?”

“Fixed my life.”

“Uh, I didn’t fix your life. You did that. I just convinced some guys in suits that you succeeded.”

The jet decelerated and lowered to the pad below. Darcy let go of Bucky and looked out the window to see the main building of the New York headquarters in front of them.

“We’re home,” she said. “And I have ice cream in my freezer.”

His jaw tensed as he considered her comment and what she’d left unsaid. “I’m staying with Darcy,” he told Steve and Sam when they made their way out of the cockpit area.

“Okay,” Sam said with a grin.

“We assumed you would,” Steve added.

“Also,” Darcy said, “do not disturb for at least two days. We have plans.”

Sam laughed at her comment while Steve just shook his head. He couldn’t suppress the grin on his face, though.

“Get your minds out of the gutter, Rogers and Wilson. He’s going to teach me how to play chess.”

Nat walked over and leaned against the wall of the jet. “Sure, he is,” she said with a nod. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy shut the door and leaned against it, watching Bucky drop his bag on the floor and walk into her living room. _Their_ living room, now. When he turned around to look at her from his spot next to the couch, she said, “How do you feel?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don't know. It's… I can't believe I'm here with you. And Steve is just over there and he trusts me. _You_ trust me. I didn't think this was possible.”

“We’ve always trusted you, Bucky.” She locked the door and turned back to him. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Even after all this time?”

“Even so,” she agreed. “I thought about you every day.”

“I thought about you all the time, doll. Not a day went by when I didn't kick myself for not going with plan B.”

She smiled. “Maybe this will be worth the wait. You have your life back, as much as you can get it back, that is. And you've got Steve and a whole group of people I think you'll like once you get to know them.”

“And you,” Bucky said. “I've got you, right?”

“You've definitely got me. Which bring me to a very important question.”

He looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”

“Can we please eat ice cream in our underwear now?”

Bucky chuckled and nodded his head at her. “Yes. I'd love to eat ice cream in my underwear with you. But only on one condition.”

“Anything.”

His brows lifted at her quick answer. “Better be careful, doll. You don't know what I was gonna ask.”

“Can't be bad if you're asking.” She pulled off her T-shirt and tossed it at Bucky before walking around the granite island to open the freezer and pull out the ice cream carton. As she dug in the drawer for a scoop, she watched Bucky walk over to the island and pull off his own shirt. Darcy tried not to stare at his muscles and all that perfection.

He leaned against the counter and watched as she sat out two bowls and divided what was left of the ice cream into them. “You're not really in your underwear,” he told her, his eyes lingering on her when she turned around to get spoons from another drawer. Darcy glanced over her shoulder and wiggled her ass for him before unfastening her jeans and slipping them down her legs, bending at the waist to give him a better view of her butt.

When Darcy turned around with the spoons, he was standing just a few feet away and stepping out of his pants. “You know, they should have locked you up for being way too sexy,” she told him.

“I'm on house arrest for the next few days.”

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah. Couldn't feel better about it, too. Got some real good company.”

“Mmm,” she teased, “lucky girl.”

“Lucky me,” he amended, accepting the bowl of ice cream she offered.

“What was the condition?” she asked.

He gave her a blank look. “What?”

“You said you’d eat ice cream with me on one condition. What was the condition?”

Bucky grinned and it nearly took her breath away. “Oh.” His gaze dropped to the floor, and then he looked up at her through his lashes. “I was just going to say I wanted to eat you after the ice cream.”

Darcy felt her pussy practically throb at the mention of his mouth on her, his tongue lapping at her sensitive skin. She swallowed hard before she llicked the chocolate ice cream off her spoon and said, “Mmmm, that’s a pretty acceptable condition. Wanna be bad and eat in bed?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Been dreaming about that bed for the past few weeks. Didn't think I'd get a chance to enjoy it.”

The bedroom was lit by the early evening light coming in the large windows facing her bed, so she didn’t bother to turn on the lamp. Instead, she stepped up on the bed and let herself drop to a seated position in the middle of the mattress. She bounced when her ass hit the bed, and Bucky looked like he might forego the ice cream when his gaze dropped to her chest. “You coming?” she asked him with a grin.

The bowl in one hand, he used the other to steady himself as he crawled into bed with her. They ended up sitting crossed-legged, facing one another. Darcy smiled at him as they began eating their ice cream, spoons clinking against the glazed ceramic.

After a couple minutes, she said, “How are you, Bucky? Seriously.”

He licked the back of his spoon and then his lips. Darcy swallowed the chocolate ice cream in her mouth as she thought about what they’d done that morning and the previous night. “Seriously, I’m good,” Bucky told her. He gave a soft laugh before staying, “I, uh, it’s hard to believe all this. It’s… a lot. Being here, Steve’s support, the forgiveness, you. I don’t know that I deserve it all, but it feels so good.”

“You seem a little shell-shocked.”

“I feel that way. Feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Feel like I’m waiting for this to get taken away.”

“I won’t let it,” she told him.

Bucky smiled at her. “I definitely don’t deserve you, doll.”

She ate a spoonful of ice cream and said, “Well, I am pretty awesome.”

He reached over and took her bowl, stacking it on top of his and putting them both on the nightstand.

“Hey,” Darcy protested, “I wasn’t done.”

“You know the best way to relax after a long, stressful day?” he asked, mischief and desire in his eyes.

Darcy smiled. “Maybe.”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed her lips softly. She moaned and reached up to cup the back of his head. “You okay?” he asked when they parted.

“Very okay,” she whispered back.

“About that condition I mentioned earlier… I’ve got this urge that I can’t seem to shake,” he told her, shifting to his knees and pushing her back onto the bed.

“Yeah? It wasn’t for ice cream?”

“Nope,” Bucky replied, leaning over her prone body and peppering kisses down her neck and chest. Darcy arched her back so he could unclasp her bra and pull it off. Her body was humming for him by the time he circled first one nipple and then the other with his tongue.

Instead of lingering there, he placed open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and abdomen until he hit the waistband of her panties.

“Bucky,” Darcy whispered, lifting her hips up in anticipation.

He chuckled and curled his fingers into the hips of the panties, pulling them down her legs. She wiggled as she waited for him to line himself up and fill her. That wasn’t Bucky’s plan, though. He seemed intent on using his mouth. Darcy closed her eyes and tilted her head back just as he kissed her lower lips, darting the tip of his tongue out to enter her, tentatively tasting her juices.

“Oh my gah–” Her moaned exclamation was cut short when he growled and pressed his face against her, his tongue spearing inside her pussy. Bucky used a hand on her right leg to urge it over his left shoulder. The position opened her up wider and let him slide a finger inside her while he flicked her clit with his tongue. “Bucky,” she gasped, digging her heel into his back.

His tongue went up one side of her clit and down the other until she was clutching at the sheets of her unmade bed and making keening noises for him. Bucky pressed a kiss right at the top of her slit before he looked up her body. Darcy could see him settled between her legs, his lips glistening with her juices and his saliva. “You taste better than the ice cream,” he said, pupils blown wide.

“Bucky, please,” she begged, lifting her hips up. “I need you.”

“I’m trying,” he whispered against her sex, licking her again.

Her laugh was breathy when she said, “No. Inside me. You. Inside me.”

She felt two of his fingers penetrate her, and while it felt delicious in combination with what his mouth was going, it was no substitute for what she’d asked for.

“Bucky, please,” she said again. “Need you inside me.”

He moved up and braced an arm on the mattress beside her as he leaned to his right and fumbled his boxers down. She was almost vibrating with unchecked desire. “Like this?” he asked, guiding himself inside her with a hand at the base of his cock.

She arched her back as he filled her until the pressure of taking him almost felt like too much. He was cradled between her thighs and she was on her back. “Fuck, yes,” she said, hooking her legs around him and using her heels to digging into his ass to pull him closer. Her insistence must have taken him off guard because he fell forward and caught himself on his forearms, his face inches from her own. “You feel so good,” Darcy whispered, tightening up the muscles in her pussy.

“Ahh, fuck, doll. You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop that. It’s too good.” He laughed and buried his face into her hair as he pulled out and pushed back in. “I’m outta practice.”

“I volunteer to practice with you.”

This made him chuckle again. “Thought of you like this so many times. Can’t believe it’s real. Feels like a dream.”

“You feel better than you did in my dreams.”

He thrusts were slow and even and deep. Darcy wasn’t sure Bucky needed any practice because he was edging her toward an intense orgasm already. His breath was hot against her ear when he said, “You thought about us… like this?”

“So many times. Bucky, that feels so good. Don’t—don’t stop. Please…”

Her nails dragging down his back seemed to spur him on as he quickened his pace. He turned his head and captured her mouth with his, intertwining their tongues. “You taste like chocolate,” he whispered when they both pulled back to take a breath.

She groaned as he tilted his hips and hit her at a slightly different angle. “You taste like me,” Darcy replied.

“Better get used to it, doll. You taste too good not to have you for dessert every night.” His strokes were a little faster and more forceful, but they felt so good. The friction caused by the drag of his cock and the way his pubic bone sometimes hit her clit felt so good it was almost painful. “I’m so close,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me how to get you there.”

She gave a breathless laugh. “I’m there. Almost. Talk to me. I love your voice.”

“Yeah?” he asked, moving his mouth to her ear. “You like to hear me telling you how good you feel around me? Is that what you like, Darcy?”

“Uh huh,” she said, closing her eyes and digging her nails into his back.

“Feel so good, doll. I spent two years fuckin’ my hand, wishin’ it was you. Dreamin’ about how you’d feel, how you’d taste. It’s so much better than I thought. You’re so much better. So good…” His voice was rough in her ear, the phrases coming out between labored breaths as he picked up the pace. “Come around me, sweetheart. Let me feel you,” he said right as he pressed a hand between them and touched her clit with his thumb. It was all she needed to shatter and arch up into his body. The warmth that started at her core spread out into her body like tendrils of lazy heat, stealing her ability to move.

She fought against the post-coital lethargy as his rhythm faltered and he tensed up, burying his face into her neck. Darcy tightened her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as he came inside her with a trembling groan of release.

As his breathing slowed and returned to normal, she held him, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his breath hot against the skin of her neck.

Darcy grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted his head so she could look into his eyes. “One day you’re going to figure out you do,” she told him.

Bucky smiled before kissing her lips.

“Love you,” she murmured when he moved to place a kiss on her cheek and then on her chin.

“You’re crazy, doll,” he said, brushing her lips over her closed eyes.

“You love it, though.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, “I love _you_.”

Darcy released a breath and felt the tension she’d been holding in for two years leave her. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding onto it like that. “Do you think we’re out of the woods yet?” she whispered.

He sighed. “I hope so. I… think so.”

“Good. I have so many things I want to show you,” she told him.

He placed a fluttering kiss on the tip of her nose, and then he kissed her lips again. “I can’t wait,” Bucky replied.

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Bulmaveg Otaku](http://bulmavegotaku.tumblr.com/) and [chocolategate](https://chocolategate.tumblr.com/) for listening to my ramblings, giving me their thoughts on plotting and characterization, and catching my errors. Not only are they wonderful betas, but they are wonderful people.
> 
> Thank you to YOU for reading. Thank you more for leaving kudos and commenting to let me know what you liked and/or that you're reading. It's nice to know there are people out there on the other side of this screen who appreciate the effort I put into these stories. I adore each and every one of you.
> 
> If you'd like to listen to the playlist I made of songs to inspire my muse while I was writing this you can do so in a couple of different places:  
> YouTube: <https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2o_A-FR3X3CLt6wHR3ZQdN9JAStRDR7P>  
> Spotify: <https://open.spotify.com/user/tmnsseajxtd09i3y56mevywqd/playlist/3LZgKaS8nq0RGHCiJrZENL?si=FqoNl7kwQXeqZAeuS2UVlA>
> 
> I have a few ideas of things I'd like to work on, but haven't sat down and opened a new file to start writing. I may write some shorter fics (maybe even connecting two or three of them) for the [Cool for the Summer Challenge](http://fuckyeahdarcylewis.tumblr.com/post/175911846672/fckyeahdarcylewis-cool-for-the-summer-a) on Tumblr. Maybe something featuring a little sexual tension (resolved or not) between Darcy and Bruce. I also have a longer fic I'd like to write that picks up after Infinity War and focuses Steve and Darcy. That one will take some time, but muse willing it will see the light of day by fall.
> 
> In the meantime, you can catch me on Tumblr--[Anogete](https://anogete.tumblr.com/). I do post about my WIPs and will include snippets/excerpts from them as I hit word count milestones. When I have an estimate on when fics will be done, I'll post that as well. If you'd like to talk or tell me something not via AO3 or Tumblr, you can do so by emailing me at anogete527@yahoo.com. I'd love to hear from you. Until the next time, lovely reader!


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